


The Ghost of Everything That I Could Be

by enigmaticblue



Series: Dean Winchester, Agent of SHIELD [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: Sometimes all Dean can see when he looks back at his life are ghosts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Through Captain America: Winter Soldier, some of S2 of Agents of SHIELD, and the first bit of Age of Ultron.
> 
> Title from the Over the Rhine song, “If Nothing Else”. Takes place the summer after S1 of SHIELD, and during S2. Liberties have been taken, FYI. Fills the “superhero” prompt on my trope_bingo card.

Dean rubs his eyes wearily, the words on the screen beginning to blur. He’s been looking for every bit of information on Hydra that he can dig up, but they’ve mostly hidden in plain sight.

 

Every SHIELD operative, other than those on the list of the first to be killed or captured, is suspect. Hydra has hidden in plain sight for years, the ultimate sleeper cell—even though that’s a mild term for exactly what Hydra managed to do over the last few decades.

 

“Take a break,” Bruce says. “You’ve been staring at that for hours.”

 

“We still don’t have a bead on who we can trust, and who we can’t,” Dean protests. “There are agents who still need to be rescued!”

 

“And if you’re exhausted, you’ll inevitably miss something,” Bruce replies, spinning Dean’s chair around. “Also, your brother is haunting the Tower, and he’s making me a little nervous.”

 

Dean grimaces. “Shit, doc, I’m sorry. I can tell him to leave.”

 

Bruce glares at him. “I’m not kicking your brother out, Dean. I don’t mind him being here, but you should probably talk to him about what you’re doing and how long he’s going to stay—if for no other reason than I’m going to have to lay in some supplies. Your kid brother can eat his weight in food.”

 

“Sam always did have a hollow leg,” Dean says nostalgically. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. If I’m doing all this research, he doesn’t have to hang around.”

 

Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “Dean, listen to what I’m _actually_ saying: your brother is here, and he wants to be there for you. Letting him in is the first step in rebuilding your relationship.”

 

“I heard you weren’t that kind of doctor,” Dean jokes.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’m not, but you’re a friend, and you’ve had a shitty week. If I can make things better, I will.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean says quietly. “After this last week—hell, after the last few months… Finding out Coulson is actually alive, reconnecting with Sam, then finding out SHIELD was a lie, that everything is a lie—it feels like everything is upside down.”

 

Bruce is quiet for a moment. “Most of that, you can’t do anything about.”

 

“I know,” Dean admits. “That’s why I thought if I could unravel this—”

 

“We’re all working on tracking Hydra,” Bruce reminds him. “All of us are working the problem, Dean. You’re not alone. Your brother, on the other hand, is bored out of his skull, and he wants to be sure you’re okay. Go reassure him, and then drag him along to dinner tonight, because we’re all getting together.”

 

Dean lets out a breath. “Thanks.”

 

Bruce squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

In a way, Bruce reminds Dean of Sonny, with the same kind of nonjudgmental care Sonny displayed. And Bruce does seem the sort to collect strays, just like Sonny.

 

Sam is in the Tower apartment Tony had given Dean the use of, feet up and watching some action flick. “Bruce invited us for dinner tonight,” Dean says. “I think he might be cooking.”

 

“Is that a warning or a bribe?” Sam asks.

 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, that’s actually a good thing. Out of all the Avengers, he’s probably the best in the kitchen.”

 

“Can you talk about what you’re doing?” Sam asks hesitantly.

 

SHIELD no longer exists, and Dean isn’t sure his oath is even good anymore. For Avengers’ business, or tracking Hydra, maybe, but there’s nothing preventing him from telling Sam the bare bones of what he’s doing.

 

“I’m looking for Hydra,” Dean admits. “I’m trying to sort out who’s who’s loyal to SHIELD, and who might be acting under duress. SHIELD has been burned to the ground, but I keep thinking there might be something in the ashes.”

 

“Maybe there is,” Sam says. “SHIELD had _you_ working for them, after all.”

 

Dean frowns. “How do you know I’m not Hydra, that I’m a good guy?”

 

“Besides the fact that we spent a day in a cage because Hydra thought you were a threat?” Sam asks.

 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Besides that.”

 

Sam is quiet for a long moment. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about things the last few days. You know, for the longest time, I didn’t remember what happened when you left. Last I knew, you were going out, and you just never came back.”

 

“Sam, I told you—”

 

Sam steamrolls right over him. “Dad said it was a job, and I didn’t ask any questions, because the one time I did, he flipped out on me.”

 

Dean feels sick. “Did he hit you?”

 

Sam shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. You know Dad would have never laid a finger on us.” He takes a deep, audible breath. “But the other day, it hit me that I was hungry. Dad had been gone awhile, and we didn’t have any food, and you left to get me something to eat.”

 

Dean swallows. “Yeah. That’s right.”

 

He won’t lie to his brother, even if he’s not terribly free with the details.

 

“You ran out of money,” Sam says. “Dad was pissed because he got back the next day, but you got pinched for shoplifting because I was whining about not having enough food.”

 

Dean frowns. “Sam, you were _a kid_. You deserved to have food to eat. It was my responsibility to get it for you.” Desperate to change the subject, he says, “Look, it’s water under the bridge.”

 

“You don’t get it!” Sam exclaims. “I know you’re a good guy because you’ve always been a good guy. You broke the law to feed me, and when Dad didn’t come back for you, you joined the Army to help people, and then you joined SHIELD to help people, and I get that now.”

 

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know, Sammy. Everything I had, everything I was, just went to shit.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s a Winchester thing,” Sam replies. “Except no one can blame you for it this time.”

 

Dean laughs mirthlessly. “What were you watching?”

 

Sam accepts the change of subject with relative grace. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

Dean thinks about it—he thinks about it long and hard. There’s a part of him that wants to give up, to tell Sam they can hit the road together. He can be a hunter again, and his training would probably make him uniquely qualified.

 

And then he thinks of Barton, and Bruce, and Tony, and Natasha, and he knows that leaving now will leave them in the lurch. He might not have had a hand in making this mess, but it’s still his to clean up, and Hydra is a monster in and of itself.

 

“No,” Dean says. “I think we’ve got it handled, or we will. But stay as long as you want.”

 

Sam smiles. “Well, at least for dinner.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean falls asleep watching TV with his brother, and wakes when Sam shakes him. “Hey, sorry, but, um, Jarvis said we were expected?”

 

Dean knows that Jarvis still kind of freaks Sam out. A hunter’s life is relatively low-tech compared to life at SHIELD, or in the Tower. A cell phone and a laptop are the tools of a hunter’s trade, although the job can be done with ancient books and a landline, as Bobby often proves.

 

But Jarvis is so high-tech as to almost be a person, and Dean can understand why Sam isn’t completely sanguine about it.

 

“Yeah, I’m up,” Dean replies, scrubbing his face with his hands.

 

Sam looks amused. “You want to get cleaned up? I think Jarvis said we had about thirty minutes.”

 

Dean sniffs carefully and decides that a shower is definitely in order. “Yeah, be out in ten.”

 

He doesn’t bother shaving, but he scrubs down quickly and puts on clean clothing and feels a lot better when he steps out.

 

“You good?” he asks Sam.

 

Sam shrugs. “Well, I’m apparently meeting all of the Avengers, and that’s a little weird.”

 

Dean does a quick mental calculation. “Huh, yeah, Thor might be here, too.”

 

He doesn’t say anything about Natasha, and he’s not sure if he should. It’s been weeks since he’s seen her, but their thing is casual, and he’s not about to crowd her in any sense of the word. That said, if she’s up for a liaison, he’s not sure how—or if—to let his brother know.

 

“Are you dating someone?” Sam asks suspiciously as they get on the elevator. “Because you have the same expression on your face as you did when you were trying to figure out how to make it with a girl with me around.”

 

“It’s casual, but we haven’t seen each other in a while, so she might be up for something that requires privacy,” Dean admits. “And if I say more than that, she’ll probably kill me.”

 

Sam’s eyes go wide. “Black Widow?”

 

Dean mimes getting his throat slashed just as the elevator doors open and he steps out into the Penthouse. “Smells good,” he says. “Can I help?”

 

Bruce puts him to work after quickly determining that Sam is next to useless in the kitchen. Steve shows up a few minutes later with another guy, and it turns out that it’s another Sam, although Sam Wilson this time.

 

“Well, this could get confusing,” Tony says as Steve makes introductions. He points at Sam Wilson. “Wilson,” then at Sammy, “Winchester. And Dean had probably better just be Dean before everyone is hopelessly confused.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Dean replies. “If it gets that confusing, we can use call signs instead of names. Falcon here is rather infamous. Or maybe it’s just famous.”

 

Wilson snorts. “Speak for yourself. My face hasn’t been all over the news.”

 

“I can’t help it if I’m the pretty one,” Dean jokes.

 

“Hey, I thought we agreed that I was the pretty one,” Barton protests as he steps off the elevator, Natasha on his heels.

 

Dean smirks. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything of the sort.”

 

“No, I’m the pretty one,” Natasha says. “And I believe that everyone here would agree to that.”

 

“Oh, you’re the prettiest,” Tony agrees. “No question about that.”

 

Natasha smirks. “They do say you’re a genius. Dean, introduce me to your brother.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Sam, Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, my brother, Sam Winchester.”

 

Natasha gives Sam a look that causes his brother to flush. “I hope to get to know you better.”

 

There’s a thinly veiled threat in that mild statement, one that Sam apparently recognizes, because he gets very flustered. “Uh, yeah, same here.”

 

She smiles, clearly pleased. “Dean, good to see you in one piece.” And then she kisses him in a way that makes it clear it’s not entirely casual.

 

It’s also fairly clear that they actually _have_ a relationship, which Dean didn’t think they were going public with.

 

“Hey,” he says, far less smoothly than he would have preferred. “Same to you.”

 

She smiles, and he knows that she enjoys the opportunity to throw him off balance. She wouldn’t be Natasha if she didn’t.

 

Truth be told, Dean doesn’t really mind that she keeps him on his toes.

 

No one says anything, although there are smirks all around. Dean shrugs it off, because Natasha Romanoff just staked her claim on him.

 

Bruce pulls two pans of lasagna out of the oven, along with two long, foil-wrapped loaves of garlic bread. Dean throws the sliced cucumbers into the punch bowl full of salad, and puts that on the long table.

 

He’s had a few dinners with the Avengers, but never with the full crowd, and when Thor shows up with his girlfriend, Jane Foster, the group is complete. Having his brother present feels both right and strange. Sam doesn’t say much, but he compliments Bruce’s cooking, and eats two helpings of lasagna, and is generally a good guest.

 

“We’re going to watch a movie,” Bruce says once dinner is over. “People are welcome to stay.”

 

“I need to have a conversation with Dean,” Natasha announces. “Let’s go somewhere private.”

 

Dean blinks. “Oh, yeah. Um…”

 

“I’ll stay and watch the movie if that’s okay,” Sam says with a hesitant smile. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

 

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

He pretends not to see the look that Bruce and Tony exchange, and he suspects that Sam will wind up either on their couch or a guest room. Sometimes, Dean can’t quite believe that he has friends like that, not after he lost his team.

 

“You helped cook, so we’ll clean up,” Steve says.

 

Natasha pulls him toward the elevator, and they head for his apartment. “I didn’t think we were going public,” he says as soon as his apartment door closes behind them.

 

Natasha gives him a long look. “Do you mind?”

 

“No, I don’t _mind_ ,” he says immediately. “I’m just a little curious as to what changed.”

 

She leads him over to his couch, and they both sit down, and Dean has to admit that he’s a little scared right now. “Nat, I can’t handle many more changes right now.”

 

“We’re going to be seeing more of each other,” Natasha says bluntly. “I’m well aware that Tony and Bruce, in particular, aren’t terribly fond of me or Steve right now. We didn’t call, we didn’t give them a heads up, and we didn’t call _you_. If I’d found a few moments to do just that, you might have been on your guard.”

 

“Davison is a prick,” Dean objects. “Even if you’d said something, he was after Tony and Bruce, and he thought he could get at them through me.”

 

Natasha frowns, but says only, “We’ll never know. I don’t want to keep something like this a secret, though. If we continue with this, they’ll find out one way or another.”

 

Dean nods. “Okay. I get it. I was worried about you, too.”

 

A smile curves her mouth, but she doesn’t return the sentiment. “There’s another thing.”

 

“Isn’t there always?” Dean asks.

 

“I heard from Coulson.”

 

Dean still isn’t completely over thinking Coulson was dead, or the lies that had been perpetrated, but he also doesn’t want to rehash things. “How is he?”

 

“He’s fine,” Natasha says. “Ward was Hydra, though.”

 

Dean doesn’t know Ward well, and so the betrayal doesn’t feel as sharp as another’s might have. “Coulson’s team? Any casualties?”

 

“Leo Fitz was seriously injured,” Natasha replies. “They aren’t sure what the long term damage is going to be.”

 

Dean blows out a breath. He hadn’t known Fitz well either, but from the little he’d seen, Fitz is a nice kid. “Hydra has a lot to answer for.”

 

“They do, and we can stop them,” Natasha says. “It will take time, and it’s not going to be easy, but we can stop them.”

 

She sounds so certain, and Dean wants to believe her. Maybe he wants to have something— _someone_ —to hold on to with the whole world burning around them.

 

“My brother isn’t going to be back for a while,” Dean says hoarsely. “If at all. And my bedroom has a lock on the door.”

 

“Then I think you should take me to bed,” Natasha says.

 

Dean wants to forget, and he can see the shadows in Natasha’s eyes, and he wants to make _her_ forget, too. He’s good at this, and he can lose himself in the physicality, the connection that thrums between them.

 

He eats her out until she comes with a soft sigh, and then eats her out again, using his fingers as well as his tongue and lips, going a little slower this time, a little more gently, drawing out her second orgasm. Only then does he roll on a condom, sliding into her with a single sure stroke.

 

They’ve done this often enough now that he knows what she likes, what makes her wet, what will make her come a third time.

 

That familiarity is a comfort. Natasha is hot—she’s always hot—but she’s also a friend, and when Dean is done, he curls around her and presses his forehead against her shoulder, and feels her running her fingers through his hair.

 

For a minute, he thinks he might fly apart, and he doesn’t want to do that in front of Natasha, but she whispers, “SHIELD saved my life, too, Dean.”

 

And so he lets himself shake, and he thinks he might feel her tremble, too.

 

~~~~~

 

The next morning, he wakes up to an empty bed, although that’s not so unusual. Natasha doesn’t often spend the entire night at his place, and she’s often gone when he wakes up the next morning.

 

This morning, he stumbles out of his bedroom to find Sam munching on a bowl of cereal, the apartment otherwise empty.

 

“Did Natasha leave already?” Sam asks once he’s swallowed.

 

Dean shrugs. “She’s a bit like a cat that way. She does what she wants.”

 

“Always figured you as more of a cat person,” Sam teases, then abruptly sobers. “Dean—I got a call from Bobby. There’s a case.”

 

Dean takes a deep breath. “It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not okay,” Sam argues. “You got kidnapped not that long ago, your entire life got turned upside down, and if you need me to stay—”

 

He stops, and Dean has no idea what to say. He can’t ask Sam to stay—he _knows_ that—but the thing between them is so fragile at this stage, he’s not sure how he can say that without smashing it to pieces.

 

The rest of his life is in shambles; he doesn’t need to break this fragile truce with his brother, too.

 

“Sam,” he says as gently as he knows how. “You have your life. Hunting is important, and you save lives, and you’re _good_ at it. Me? This is what I know, and this mess might not be mine, but I have to try to clean it up.”

 

Sam’s mouth slants in an unhappy line. “I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

 

“You’re not,” Dean insists. “It’s going to be a lot of computer work anyway, at least for a while. You should go do what you do best.”

 

Sam nods. “I’ll visit,” he insists. “I mean, I want to visit.”

 

“I’d love that,” Dean replies. “I don’t want to lose touch again.”

 

But it feels final, like a goodbye, and Dean can’t quite shake that feeling. At the same time, he knows Sam can’t stay. No matter what Bruce said, Sam isn’t part of this life, and he can’t be.

 

Those hours in the cage proved that to him, if nothing else had.

 

They hug it out, and Sam quickly gathers his things, and then he’s gone, leaving Dean’s apartment a little too empty.

 

Dean can’t handle the quiet, so he heads to the lab where he’s been doing most of his work the last few days.

 

He’s found that he’s good at picking up on patterns, good at seeing where the tentacles of Hydra might have dug in. Bruce comes and sits on the stool next to him after a couple of hours, and Dean doesn’t say anything at first.

 

“Jarvis said Sam left,” Bruce says mildly.

 

“He had a job,” Dean replies defensively. “He had to leave. We’ll keep in touch.”

 

Bruce hums softly. “You could have asked him to stay.”

 

Dean rubs his eyes. “No, I really couldn’t.”

 

“Dean, he’s your brother,” Bruce says, although there’s no judgment in his voice, just a question.

 

Dean doesn’t look at him when he asks, “If you had a choice between letting Tony die or saving ten innocent lives, what would you do?”

 

He hears Bruce sigh. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure the Other Guy would make that choice for me.”

 

“But?”

 

“But if he didn’t, if I had to choose, I’d let Tony die, and then I’d hate myself for the rest of my life,” Bruce admits. “Because if I made any other choice, I’m sure Tony would hate me.”

 

“He wouldn’t,” Dean says with assurance. “He’d know why you made the choice you did, and he’d forgive you, but I think we both know that you wouldn’t forgive yourself.”

 

Bruce nods. “True. What does that have to do with anything?”

 

Dean is quiet. He’s not sure he could even say this to Natasha, because he knows that she would let him die, and while she would be sad, she wouldn’t regret it, not really. He’s pretty sure that Steve and Barton are the same. It wouldn’t be an easy decision, and maybe they’d lose sleep over it, but they would sacrifice Dean for the greater good. They would sacrifice their own lives the same way, so it all evens out.

 

Bruce and Tony, though—they’re tight, and Dean thinks that Bruce, out of all of them, might understand and won’t deflect or make light of it the way Tony might.

 

“When we were in that cage, I told Sam that no matter what they threatened him with, no matter what they did to him, there were things I couldn’t divulge,” Dean says slowly. “Davison was threatening my baby brother, and he would have been a sadistic asshole about it, and maybe I could have held out, but maybe not.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Bruce says knowingly. “The point is that you told your brother that you wouldn’t give up what you knew no matter what happened to him.”

 

“He doesn’t know,” Dean says. “At least, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what people are capable of doing to each other. I could be wrong, but he hunts monsters for a living, Bruce, and you kill them quick and clean. It’s the hunter’s way.”

 

“And?” Bruce prompts.

 

Dean looks down at his hands. “I know how my dad trained me. I could ask Sam to join us, and he’d probably be an asset. He’s big and strong, and he knows how to handle himself in a fight. Hell, as far as I know, he might be able to take me these days. But if he stayed, there would come a day when I’d have to choose, and I don’t think I could do it.” He meets Bruce’s eyes. “There would come a day when I’d choose my brother, even if it damned us all, and I can’t go down that road.”

 

“You were close with your team before SHIELD,” Bruce points out.

 

“And we all knew that we would put the mission before our buddies,” Dean grinds out. “And if I’d chosen any one of them before the mission, they would have kicked my ass, and I’d have done the same if the tables had been turned.”

 

Bruce is quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “For the record, if I thought I was a danger, I’d leave before anyone knew I was going, and I’d make sure that no one would find me. Sometimes, you have to protect the world from yourself.”

 

Dean stares at his screen, at the list of potential Hydra contacts, and he says, “What’s the fucking point?”

 

Bruce grabs him by the neck and shakes him a little, and Dean remembers that Sonny had done that a couple of times. Maybe he should introduce them. “The point is that we don’t give up. God knows I’ve been ready to call it quits more than a few times, and god knows I’ve been pulled back from the brink, but Dean, in case you haven’t been paying attention, we don’t have a hell of a lot of options here. We’ve got you, and you’re integral.”

 

“I’m so tired,” Dean mutters.

 

“Then go take a nap,” Bruce says. “You can eat with us tonight, and you need to not be alone right now.”

 

Dean is willing to let Bruce make that call, and he says, “Thanks, doc.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean’s life doesn’t actually change that much with SHIELD in shambles. There’s more downtime between missions, but it’s not that different than when he was special forces, where they’d train and run maneuvers for months, and then have a few days or weeks of action.

 

Now, he spends the time going over the data they’ve mined from SHIELD, looking for clues to Hydra’s whereabouts and activities, tracing known Hydra agents to suspected sympathizers and allies.

 

In truth, he’s bored as hell, at least in between missions, and then he gets a call from Coulson.

 

It comes through while he’s in what he’s calling the war room for the Avengers, and Jarvis says, “Agent Winchester, you have a call from Director Coulson.”

 

Dean still hasn’t quite gotten used to the idea that Fury is dead—supposedly, since he privately shares Bruce and Tony’s conviction that he won’t believe Fury is dead until he sees the body and salts and burns the corpse. He should probably tell Jarvis to drop the “agent,” but he hasn’t yet, mostly for the same reason that he hasn’t tossed his badge.

 

He doesn’t believe that SHIELD can be resurrected, not really, but SHIELD had been an important part of his life for a long time. He wants to hang on to what small pieces he can.

 

“Put it through, Jarvis,” Dean directs. “Director Coulson,” he says as neutrally as possible.

 

“Agent Winchester,” Coulson replies. “Good to see you in one piece. I heard you had a little trouble.”

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Dean says dismissively. “How are you? I heard about Ward and Fitz.”

 

Coulson grimaces. “Ward escaped. Fitz—we just don’t know yet. He woke up yesterday, but he’s having some problems with his speech and coordination. We won’t know how bad it is for a while.”

 

“What can I do for you?” Dean asks.

 

“In short, we need your help,” Coulson replies. “There’s a Hydra stronghold that we need help taking out. It’s not quite at the Avengers’ level, but I need another experienced agent.”

 

Dean hesitates. “I’ll have to check with Cap, but I can probably make that work.”

 

“I’ll call him and formally request your presence myself,” Coulson offers. “I just wanted to be sure that you’re willing before I went over your head.”

 

Dean suspects that this is Coulson’s way of being polite, and making sure Dean is okay with working with him again. “Thanks. If Steve clears it, I’ll be happy to help out.”

 

He’s not surprised to see Steve show up fifteen minutes later, a concerned expression on his face. “Director Coulson just called me,” he says. “Are you okay with this?”

 

Dean shrugs. “He needs the help, and other than sifting through data, I’m not doing much here. If you can get by without me, I’m happy to go.”

 

Steve nods slowly. “It’s up to you. If you need help, be sure to let one of us know.”

 

“I will,” Dean promises. “Should I take the jet?”

 

“May is giving you a ride,” Steve says. “We can’t afford to be without transportation in case something pops up.”

 

Dean nods. “I’ll get my things together.”

 

He doesn’t have a uniform as such, but he has tactical gear, and he pulls together his go bag quickly. Black cargo pants, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black combat boots, thigh holster, and tac vest all go in, with spare clothes in his go bag.

 

He checks his weapons and makes sure he has extra ammo, since he’s not sure what Coulson’s team’s supplies are like right now. After he’s triple-checked everything, he grabs _Slaughterhouse Five_ because he finds Vonnegut comforting, and in times like this, he prefers reading something familiar instead of something new.

 

“Agent Winchester, Agent May has arrived,” Jarvis says.

 

Dean shoulders his bag and heads up to the Penthouse and the landing platform. There’s just enough room for a Quinjet to land, and the back access hatch opens, allowing Dean to board.

 

Briefly, Dean wonders if he should have said something to the rest of the Avengers, but figures that Steve will pass on the message.

 

“Agent May,” he says, stowing his bag. “You mind me sitting in the co-pilot’s seat?”

 

“Feel free,” she replies. “How long has it been since you took one of these up?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Not that long. Clint, Natasha, and I have been sharing piloting duties for the Avengers. How are things going with the director?”

 

“Fine,” May says. “There were a few side effects from whatever Fury used to bring Coulson back, but we’re working through it.”

 

“Anything we need to worry about?” Dean asks.

 

May hesitates. “Unknown at this time.”

 

Dean doesn’t bother asking her to keep him informed. It’s May, and she has her own agenda. “Anything else I should know?”

 

“Skye is turning into quite the agent,” May says. “She’s good.”

 

That’s high praise coming from May, and he says, “You’re training her?”

 

“It was Ward, but—” She stops. “He had a fixation on her.”

 

Dean grimaces. “Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“If it is, we’ll take care of it,” May replies. “Coulson has a few others he intends to contact for assistance, people he thinks he can trust. They’re not available right now, but you were.”

 

Dean frowns. “Does that mean he doesn’t think he can trust me, or—”

 

“Coulson trusts you,” May says, cutting him off. “He trusts you as much as any of the Avengers. You were slated to be one of the first taken out, which means Hydra believed you were a threat.”

 

“Of course I’m a threat,” Dean replies. “I’d kill every last one of those Hydra bastards if I had the chance.”

 

May gives him a look. “Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, Winchester.”

 

“Excuse me?” Dean asks, bristling. “I can keep my head in a crisis. That passion makes me a better, stronger agent.”

 

“It can also get you killed,” she replies severely. “Dean—”

 

“I told my brother—my long-lost kid brother, in fact, the one person I would have died for in a heartbeat—that there were things I couldn’t do, even if it meant saving him,” Dean snaps. “I was prepared to watch Davison torture him in front of me if that’s what it took, so don’t give me that shit about emotions.”

 

May is quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry. Ward and I were close, and I—I think I let my own feelings cloud my judgment.”

 

Dean rubs his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. We’ve all had to make some really hard, shitty choices recently, and I shouldn’t assume that I’ve had it worse than anybody else.”

 

“Maybe we should both stop assuming,” May replies with some humor. “Because I think we both know what happens when we do.”

 

“Fair enough,” Dean replies. “What have we got here?”

 

“Hydra was using people as leverage against some of their more reluctant converts,” May explains. “We’ve heard about another group of hostages, and we’re hoping that rescuing them will erode Hydra’s support.”

 

Dean nods. “Plus, the idea of Hydra holding people hostage doesn’t exactly sit right, particularly when they’re innocents.”

 

“That, too,” May says. “Look, Dean, I know that you and Coulson were close.”

 

Dean nods tightly. “He recruited me for SHIELD, at a time when I didn’t know what was coming next. I owe him a lot.”

 

“He’s changed,” May warns him. “He’s different now.”

 

“I kind of figured that out,” Dean says wryly.

 

“It’s more than that,” May replies.

 

Dean nods. “I’ll be on my guard.”

 

They don’t talk for the rest of the flight.

 

~~~~~

 

The base that Coulson is using is one of Fury’s old hideouts, one of those places kept off the books. Fury had always been a paranoid bastard, and that’s paying off in spades since there are places the remnants of SHIELD can gather.

 

Of course, Dean has to wonder how Fury hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t known about Hydra and how deep their tentacles went.

 

Dean never had the unwavering faith in Fury that a lot of people in SHIELD did; there were those who viewed Fury as nearly omniscient, but he’d missed something _huge_. So had many others highly placed in SHIELD.

 

Dean had just been an agent—a good one, maybe, but no more than that. He hadn’t been in a position to know, although he feels like an idiot for not having seen it.

 

He follows May through the base, drops his bag on the bed she indicates is his, and then follows her to Coulson’s office.

 

Coulson stands behind his desk, and Dean quickly takes in the rest of the room. He’s definitely short-handed. Skye is there, as is Tripp, but that’s it for people.

 

“Agent Winchester,” Coulson says. “Thank you for coming.”

 

“Good to see you again, sir,” Dean replies. “Tripp, Skye, glad you’re both in one piece.”

 

Tripp shakes his hand and slaps him on the back, but Skye just nods, clearly upset about something. He wonders if she’s feeling uncertain about her place on Coulson’s team.

 

“Now that we’re all here, let’s go over the mission parameters,” Coulson says.

 

The intelligence is pretty solid; Hydra is holding people—innocents, or possibly other SHIELD personnel—at a secure research facility in upstate New York. Their mission is to infiltrate the base, rescue any innocents or SHIELD agents, and get out without casualties.

 

“Winchester, you’re with Skye,” Coulson says.

 

Skye looks outraged. “I thought I’d be with May.”

 

“May has her own role on this op,” Coulson replies implacably. “Winchester will keep you in one piece.”

 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Skye objects.

 

“If I thought you did, I wouldn’t include you on this mission,” Coulson says pleasantly, but there’s a thread of steel in his voice.

 

Skye nods reluctantly. “Understood.”

 

Dean doesn’t have any hard feelings; she’s young and green and obviously unused to taking orders, or at least following them without question. Granted, Dean has been known to question orders a time or two, but he has nearly two decades of training, and he only does so when there’s a good reason.

 

Special Forces is a little different than the regular Army in that there’s more give and take when planning missions, and SHIELD had been very similar, but orders are still orders.

 

Dean checks his weapons again before they get on the Quinjet because the chances of them having what he needs in the field aren’t good once they’re off the ground.

 

“Look, I get that you’re the Avengers’ liaison or whatever, but I don’t need a babysitter,” Skye says, bristling as she steps up to him as he approaches the Quinjet.

 

Dean heaves a purely internal sigh. “May trained you, so I know that’s true. I’m here because Coulson said he needed the extra power. He wants me with you, so I’m going to watch your back.”

 

Skye backs off a bit at that point, and he’s reminded of some of the soldiers he worked with who had fought to be where they are, and can’t quite believe they’re actually there, that they’ve arrived. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says. “Remember your training, keep your head on straight, and watch _my_ back.”

 

She nods. “Got it.”

 

Dean smiles at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t been doing this very long, relatively speaking. I’ve been a soldier for nearly twenty years, and I still learn something new every mission.”

 

Skye frowns. “How long have you been with SHIELD?”

 

“A few years. Coulson recruited me,” Dean says. “I was spec ops before that.”

 

Skye appears curious, but May says, “Wheels up!” and that puts an end to the conversation.

 

Dean does wonder what it might be like to mentor a woman. He hadn’t had the opportunity in the Rangers, and he’d had as many women train him as men at SHIELD without the chance to return the favor.

 

He doesn’t think that will every happen now, not unless the Avengers decide to recruit more people, and he doesn’t see that happening. Besides, he doubts that he’d be the one assigned as a mentor when there are plenty of other qualified candidates.

 

The Quinjet lands a couple of miles away from the Hydra base to avoid giving away their presence too early, which means that he and Skye have a hike to make, mostly in silence. They’re going in through the back entrance, which means infiltrating through the air vents to drop down where the hostages are being held.

 

Assuming the intel is good, and there are hostages. Dean doesn’t take anything for granted these days.

 

Dean takes the lead as the senior agent, and he’s relieved that Skye allows it. His training won’t let her go first.

 

Granted, he probably wouldn’t have let Coulson go first either, but that’s for another reason entirely.

 

Dean follows the directions through the vents, pausing at each register to check the room below.

 

Skye knocks her elbow against the vent, but at least it’s above an unoccupied room.

 

He glances back at her, she grimaces an apology, and they move on.

 

This time, their information is good, and Dean sees about half a dozen people, including two in torn SHIELD field gear and a couple of kids who look scared to death.

 

Dean keeps his cursing purely internal as he checks the access on the vents. They’ve been welded shut, which means he’s going to have to blow them with small, focused charges. The problem is that they run the risk of injuring the people in the room, since the vent will get blown out.

 

He doesn’t know either of the SHIELD agents, and he doesn’t have a good way to get their attention without blowing his cover, but the kids are a priority.

 

And then Dean spots a computer in one corner with a webcam attached, and he can see a blinking light that indicates it’s live.

 

He gets Skye’s attention and points, hoping she’ll understand without him needing to spell it out.

 

Her eyes light up when she sees the computer, and she whips out a small notebook computer, typing rapidly.

 

There’s the sound of the processor running and a quiet beep, and one of the SHIELD agents glances over. The agent frowns—she’s a short, stocky woman with mouse-brown hair escaping a bun, and she sidles over to the computer slowly.

 

Dean can see the flash of a picture on the computer screen, gone so quickly that someone watching the room would probably dismiss it as a brief malfunction. Dean can see Skye pointing up, though, and so did the woman, because she glances briefly at the ventilation shaft.

 

Down by her leg, with the hand that’s in Dean’s full view, she signals no guards outside the room, and that’s all Dean really needs to know.

 

He quickly sends a message to Coulson, apprising him of the situation, and receives a response: distraction imminent.

 

Dean begins setting his detcord, and he motions Skye back. There shouldn’t be much blowback, so it’s by far the safest option.

 

There’s a sound of something exploding in the distance and the SHIELD agent begins herding hostages away from the wall. Dean ignites the detcord and turns away, shielding his eyes, and then he grabs the grate before it can fall.

 

“Little help here,” he says softly, and the male SHIELD agent comes over to grab it from underneath, setting it gently on the ground. “Thanks.”

 

“Winchester, right?” the man asks. “You’re the Avengers’ liaison.”

 

“Well, I was before the whole world went to hell in a hand basket,” Dean replies in a whisper. “But yeah, I’m Winchester.”

 

He lowers himself out of the vent and shakes the man’s hand. “I’m Beck Flannigan, and that’s Karlee Dorchester,” the man replies. “We’re both level four.”

 

Dean nods. “What’s the situation?”

 

“We’ve been here for a few days,” Karlee replies. “Beck and I were on assignment together when the third member of our team got the drop on us. They locked us in here. The kids and Meryl and Brendan came later.”

 

Meryl, a sweet-faced woman who looks to be in her fifties, says, “I don’t know why they grabbed me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

Skye drops down. “What does your husband do?”

 

The hostages all jump, and Dean sighs. “Skye, a little warning next time, if you please. And Meryl, are you married?”

 

She looks bewildered. “What would that have to do with anything?”

 

“I don’t know, but let’s not stick around to find out,” Dean says. “I want to get all of you out of here, unharmed.”

 

He squats down so he’s at the kids’ level. “Hey, what are your names?”

 

The girl looks about eight, and she sticks her chin out pugnaciously. “Bryn, and my daddy is a secret agent, and he’s going to rescue me.”

 

Dean pretends to think about it. “Do you think he’d mind if I rescued you first? I’ll bet he’s really worried about you.”

 

Bryn looks away and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

 

“What if I could get you a meeting with the Avengers? Would he forgive me then?”

 

Bryn and the little boy’s eyes go wide. “You know the Avengers?” Bryn asks in a loud whisper.

 

“Sure do,” Dean replies. “Who’s your favorite?”

 

“Iron Man,” she says, as though she’s imparting one of the secrets of the universe.

 

Dean grins. “Know what? He’s one of my favorites, too. What about you, little man?”

 

“Tommy.”

 

“Tommy, then,” Dean says. “Who’s your favorite?”

 

“Hulk,” he whispers. “He’d smash the bad men.”

 

Dean nods. “You got that right. Tell you what, if you’re really quiet, and you do what I say, I will make sure that you get to meet the Hulk and Iron Man. Is it a deal?”

 

They both nod vigorously, and Dean stands. “Our team is going to be clearing out the building, but that means a lot of fighting. I don’t want to take the risk that they’ll come back for you all as hostages, so we’re going out the way Skye and I came in. Any bad knees that I need to know about?”

 

He hadn’t been certain they’d go that route, but all of the hostages look relatively fit and unharmed, and it’s the safer option. Someone might figure out they went out through the ventilation shaft, but it’s going to be harder to follow, and they might not want to take the risk.

 

Meryl straightens her shoulders. “I can handle it.”

 

“Good. Skye, you and Beck take point. Bryn and Tommy will follow with Meryl, Brendan, Karlee and I heading up the rear. We good?”

 

There are nods all around, and Dean boosts Skye back into the ventilation shaft, then gives Beck a leg up. He lifts each child up into Beck’s waiting hands, then Brendan helps Dean give Meryl a boost and follows under his own power with the agility of a gymnast. Karlee and Dean follow, and Dean using a wire to pull up the grate and uses some quick-setting glue to cover the immediate evidence of their escape.

 

It won’t hold for long, or with close scrutiny, but with luck they’ll be out of the building before their escape is discovered.

 

Dean suspects that at least one of the agents or hostages is a plant, although the kids are clearly innocents. He figures if they try to attack, it will either be while they’re escaping from the building itself, or they’ll attempt to infiltrate what’s left of SHIELD for Hydra.

 

That’s why he’d put Skye in the lead; Ward’s recent betrayal is fresh in her mind, and he knows she won’t drop her guard. He would have preferred to keep the kids closer to him, but that hadn’t been safe.

 

Still, they make it out of the ventilation shaft without incident, although Dean keeps his weapon loose.

 

“I promise, we’re going to get all of you where you need to be, but for right now, let’s just get somewhere safe,” Dean says. “We’ll sort out the rest later.”

 

He’s waiting for it, and Brendan makes a grab for Bryn while Meryl does the same for Tommy. Dean is on top of Brendan immediately, his gun pressed to the middle of his forehead, while Skye draws on Meryl and shoots her in the shoulder, her posture and expression indicating that she’s rock solid.

 

“Hail, Hydra, huh?” Dean asks with a smirk. “You really almost sold it, Meryl.”

 

She snarls, her hand pressed to her injured shoulder. “How did you know?”

 

“You were too innocent,” Dean replies. “And while maybe you aren’t the motherly sort, the kids were staying closer to the SHIELD agents. Brendan might have passed, but he’s either a gymnast or highly trained, because even the SHIELD agents needed a bit of help getting into that shaft.”

 

“You didn’t,” Meryl replies.

 

Dean shrugs. “You try working out on a regular basis with Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye. Beck, Karlee, you want to do the honors?”

 

They each take a zip-tie off of him, and now Bryn begins crying in earnest. “I’m sorry! They said we couldn’t tell or they’d kill our parents!”

 

“Oh, sweetie, come here,” Dean says, giving her a hug, and then doing the same for Tommy. “Okay, I’d carry you guys, but it’s not safe. How about we stay here and wait for the rest of the team to arrive? Meanwhile, I can tell you a story about Iron Man, how’s that?”

 

Dean had done this a few times on different missions where small children had been involved, and his buddies had always ribbed him. “When are you going to make tiny Winchesters, Sarge?” Scooter asked. “You’re good with kids.”

 

But Dean hadn’t ever risen to their bait. There had been Sammy when he was younger, and then Sonny’s with the younger boys that Dean protected and helped care for, always with the desire that the kids he saw would have more of a childhood then he ever had.

 

So, Dean tells a story about breakfast in Stark Tower, and Iron Man and Captain America arguing over which pancakes were better, blueberry or chocolate chip, and Hawkeye and Dean stealing both until they’d had to make them plain.

 

The kids are giggling by the end of it, and when Coulson arrives, it’s with two disheveled people in tow—a thin man with a receding hairline and worried eyes, and a woman with a black eye and hair the same bright red as Tommy’s.

 

Both kids are up and running immediately, cries of “mommy” and “daddy” ringing out, and Dean smiles.

 

It’s a good day.

 

“Skye said you made quite the catch,” Coulson says as he approaches, passing the parents who are hugging the stuffing out of their kids, repeatedly checking them over for any injuries. “Well done.”

 

Dean shrugs. “Skye was a great asset, as were Beck and Karlee.”

 

“Still, she said you were the one who managed to get the kids ready to move, and calmed them down after,” Coulson replies.

 

“I like kids,” Dean says simply. “They’re brave little troupers.”

 

“We should get these two into custody,” Coulson announces. “And get Drs. Freeman and Piehl and their children back home.”

 

Dean then has to endure the effusive gratitude of the parents, and promises once again that if they show up at Stark Tower, he’ll make sure they get an audience with whatever Avengers happen to be present at that moment, with more effusive thanks.

 

He isn’t used to that, and he’d much rather slip away, but there’s clean up to be done, and prisoners to transport, and questions to ask.

 

When they’re finally back on the Quinjet with Beck and Karlee in tow, and Meryl and Brendan in custody with the local authorities for kidnapping, Dean asks, “What’s the deal, Coulson?”

 

“Dr. Freeman is an expert on explosives, and Piehl is a physicist who has made some impressive discoveries in space time theory,” Coulson replies. “We’re not sure what Hydra wanted with them, but they’re both single parents with one child and little other family. They were extremely vulnerable to requests made at the barrel of a gun, particularly one pointed at their children.”

 

And that right there is why Dean is never planning on having kids. Even if he could somehow manage it, find a woman who might be interested in procreating with him, who didn’t mind the long hours and his crazy schedule, he wouldn’t do that to the kid.

 

Hostages to fortune doesn’t even begin to cover it.

 

“What’s going to happen to them now?” Skye asks.

 

Coulson hesitates, then says, “I’m afraid that SHIELD doesn’t have the resources to offer protective custody. It’s possible that if Hydra wants them badly enough, they’ll come after them again.”

 

“I’ll talk to Tony and Bruce,” Dean offers. “They might have some ideas.”

 

Coulson pauses. “May I speak to you privately, Agent Winchester?”

 

Dean has some idea what this is about, and he feels a sense of trepidation as he follows Coulson into his office on the Bus. “Sir?”

 

“We could use someone with your talents,” Coulson says bluntly. “We’re trying to dismantle Hydra, and I don’t have room for a lot of agents, but I’d like to have you aboard.”

 

For a moment, Dean is really fucking tempted. Missions like this are his life-blood, and he misses being in the field. If he sticks with the Avengers, it’s going to be a lot of boredom and minutes of terror, and nothing in between.

 

He could help May with Skye, shoot the breeze with Tripp, make a place for himself here.

 

And he can’t.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s just not possible,” Dean replies. “I have a duty to the Avengers.”

 

Coulson nods slowly. “Does this have anything to do with me not telling you I was alive?”

 

Dean sighs. “I think we both know I have trust issues, sir. You’ve seen my psych evals.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Coulson says, and he really does sound sorry. “I wanted to let you know, but—”

 

“It was need to know, and I didn’t,” Dean says evenly. “What you don’t understand, sir, is that I don’t harbor any mistrust of you, personally. You’re a good guy, and you’ve always done right by me, and you’ve always done your duty.”

 

“But?”

 

“But right now I need to know that the people I stand with can take care of themselves,” Dean says bluntly. “I’ve lost too many teammates over the years, and while your people are the best, they’re not indestructible.”

 

“Neither are the Avengers,” Coulson says.

 

Dean shrugs. “Maybe, but they’re close to it, and—I can’t deal with more losses at this point. I know myself well enough to draw that line in the sand.”

 

Coulson nods slowly. “And I respect you for it. But can I ask you to help out from time to time?”

 

“If I’m free, I’d be happy to,” Dean replies.

 

“Very well,” Coulson says. “But if you change your mind, there will always be a place for you on my team.”

 

He grabs his gear and meets May at the Quinjet. “You’re leaving.”

 

“I’ve got a few things I need to figure out before I sign on for another gig like this,” Dean replies. “SHIELD meant everything to me.”

 

“SHIELD still exists,” May responds.

 

Dean hitches a shoulder. “In some form, anyway.”

 

She nods. “I do understand, Dean. Coulson found me in Records.”

 

“I’d heard that,” Dean says neutrally. “Look, if you need backup at any point, even if Coulson doesn’t ask, I can be discreet, and I can keep a secret.”

 

May glances over her shoulder, her expression impassive, but Dean can tell she’s worried. They had all lost something when SHIELD crumbled, and Coulson had lost more than most, considering the fact that he’d been dead awhile on top of it.

 

“I may take you up on that offer,” she finally says, and from May, that’s as good as a promise—at least that she’ll take his offer if there’s no other way.

 

The flight back home is fairly quiet, and Dean wonders if Natasha will be there when he gets back, or if she’ll be up for something. If she’s not, maybe he and Clint could go out on the town. He hasn’t been back to their building yet, but it would be good to check on things for himself.

 

“Winchester,” May calls as she lands. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

 

Dean nods, knowing what a concession that is coming from her. “I’ll do the same.”

 

She smiles then. “You have Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers.”

 

“They aren’t the Cavalry.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t call me that,” but he thinks there might still be a smile on her face.

 

Maybe Dean might not know where he belongs right now, but it’s not with Coulson’s team.

 

He’ll figure out the rest as he goes along.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony’s grinning from ear to ear when he bounces into the war room a few days later, with Bruce following at a more sedate pace. “Dean! Just the man I wanted to see.”

 

Dean is always cautious when he sees that expression on Tony’s face. “Okay. Do I want to know why?”

 

“On this occasion, you do,” Bruce assures him. “You know Tony’s been working on uniforms and toys for the Avengers.”

 

Dean frowns, but he follows them out of the war room and up to their lab. “I’m not sure what that has to do with me, though.”

 

“Bruce pointed out that when SHIELD fell, we technically didn’t need a liaison to SHIELD anymore,” Tony says. “Which is why I offered you a job.”

 

Dean grimaces. “Actually, you didn’t. You rescued me and my brother, and then you let me stay on, something I’m grateful for, by the way.”

 

“But you need a job,” Tony says. “I’m not wrong about that.”

 

Dean is beginning to feel really uncomfortable. “No, you’re not, and if this is your way of saying I need to start looking—”

 

Tony slings an arm over his shoulders. “ _Au contrare, mon ami_. It’s our way of making sure you know you’re part of the team.”

 

“Your uniform is a lot like Clint’s,” Bruce says, “but we know your specialty was demolition, so we’ve included a few goodies along those lines.”

 

Dean stares at the thing of beauty in front of him, unable to say anything just yet. The uniform is a sleeker version of the SHIELD field uniform with pants, boots, a sleeveless shirt, and what looks like a really fucking badass coat.

 

“It’s flame retardant, and there are metal plates built into the front and back,” Tony explains. “It should protect you against fire, and will help absorb any blast.”

 

“The belt has a few different toys we’ve been working on, mostly explosives, but there are a couple of scopes for your gun, and some shock sticks for close range combat when a gun would be counterproductive,” Bruce adds.

 

Dean still can’t quite figure out what to say. “This is incredible.” He’s staring at the stylized “A” on the arm, marking him as a member of the Avengers. “But there’s nothing special about me.”

 

“I’d take exception to that,” Tony says indignantly. “You earned this, Dean. Between how you handled Bruce, and then the thing with Centipede, and Hydra, this is where you belong. Besides, we all took a vote, and we agreed. You’re in.”

 

“I’m just a SHIELD agent!” Dean protests.

 

Bruce shrugs, unrepentant. “Maybe that’s the point. But as skilled as Clint and Natasha are, they’re still human, and so are you. We need people like you to keep us honest.”

 

“Try it on,” Tony urges.

 

“We’ll give you your privacy,” Bruce says, and pulls Tony out of the lab, the windows becoming opaque.

 

It quickly becomes obvious that Dean won’t be able to wear much underneath, and if he doesn’t want to go commando, he’ll have to invest in some lightweight boxer briefs or something.

 

For now, he strips down, pulling on the pants, which fit like a glove. He wouldn’t put it past Jarvis to have taken his measurements surreptitiously. The shirt has a high neck with a reinforced collar, which means he’s less likely to get his throat slit. The coat has long sleeves and falls to mid-thigh. The material is heavy, and he can feel the lightweight plates, although he’s not sure what they’re made out of, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll stop bullets.

 

In this uniform, Dean feels invincible, although he knows that’s a dangerous feeling. But he straps on the custom thigh holsters, the utility belt with the extra ammunition and explosives, and then he shrugs to settle it all and thinks he could take on the whole fucking world.

 

“Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner would like to know if they can enter,” Jarvis says.

 

“Yeah, send them in,” Dean replies.

 

The windows go clear, and Tony lets out a wolf whistle as he enters. “Looking good, Winchester, if I do say so myself. How does it feel?”

 

“Good,” Dean says. “Although if you’ve got a recommendation for underwear to wear under this thing, I’d take it.”

 

Bruce laughs. “I’ll send you a couple of links.”

 

“But it’s good?” Tony asks, sounding anxious.

 

Dean laughs. “Are you kidding? This gift is only second to the amulet my brother gave me for Christmas when I was twelve.”

 

“An amulet?” Tony begins, but is stopped when Bruce—not so subtly—steps on Tony’s foot. “I’m sure it has sentimental value.”

 

Dean shrugs, unwilling to get too far into the story. “It was the best Christmas I had since my mom was killed.”

 

A silence falls, and Bruce says, “I’m glad you like it.”

 

Dean is glad that Bruce doesn’t probe more deeply, but if anybody understands emotional landmines, it would be Bruce.

 

“If you’ve got any ideas for what you might want, or other weapons that might work for you, we’ll do whatever you need,” Tony says. “The sky’s the limit.”

 

“I’ll let you know,” Dean replies. “And I think I’ll wear this out, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Do that,” Bruce says, amused. “We’re glad you like it.”

 

He’s a little surprised to find Natasha waiting for him in his room, sitting cross-legged on his bed, and she looks like the cat that ate the canary when she spots him. “I heard you were getting your uniform today.”

 

“You like?” Dean asks, holding out his arms.

 

With an amused expression, she motions for him to twirl, and he does so good-naturedly. When she motions him to do it again, he starts an impromptu strip tease, easing his coat off slowly.

 

He glances over his shoulder and sees her roll her eyes, but when he pauses, she says, “Don’t stop now.”

 

Feeling a little self-conscious, Dean starts up again, slowly peeling off his sleeveless shirt, letting it drop on the floor. He turns around to give Natasha a view of his ass—which he has been informed is a stellar one—while he unlaces his boots, and then he begins to slide his pants down his hips.

 

He keeps his back to her, and then turns slowly. “You want to finish this up?”

 

“Hmm…” She pretends to think about it, then motions him forward. He yelps when she uses his pants to tug him forward, and then she swallows him down.

 

Dean’s view on oral is generally favorable, both giving and receiving, but he’s not a quid pro quo kind of guy. He can get his rocks off just fine without it, but he’s never going to pass up a blowjob.

 

And Natasha is as good at giving blowjobs as she is at just about anything else.

 

Dean manages to give her a warning before he comes, but she just hums, and the vibration sends him right over the edge. She pulls off him, and Dean sprawls on the bed next to her.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean mutters. “So, you like the uniform, huh?”

 

Natasha smirks. “You fill it out quite well.”

 

“Give me a minute, and I’ll return the favor,” Dean says.

 

“No need,” she replies, and kisses him, and he can taste himself on her lips. “I have to catch a flight out tonight.”

 

Dean frowns. “Something I should know about?”

 

“It’s an errand for a friend,” Natasha replies. “And if I’m successful, I might have some additional information on the location of an important Hydra base.”

 

“Good luck,” Dean says, quickly adding, “not that you need it.”

 

She smiles. “I am just that good.”

 

Dean carefully hangs up his suit after she’s left, and then gets cleaned up. For the first time in weeks, he’s feeling pretty good about where he is.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean crouches on the roof across from the Hydra facility, peering through the binoculars and then pressing a button to zero in on the sentries. “I’ve got two on this side.”

 

“Same for over here,” Barton says.

 

They had left the powered people at home, since the target is a relatively small research facility with few guards and important intel. This mission’s purpose is to find out whether they should shut the place down, and to plant the bug that Tony had created.

 

Natasha is the one actually entering the facility, but he and Barton are there as backup in case she gets into trouble—unlikely, but they aren’t willing to take the chance.

 

It’s just like old times.

 

“Making my approach now,” Natasha says in an undertone, and Dean settles in to wait.

 

Both he and Barton are positioned on rooftops at the edge of their range, wanting to remain unseen, sniper rifles at the ready. Dean isn’t anywhere near Barton’s level of marksmanship, but he’s no slouch either.

 

Natasha has one of Tony’s masks, and she’s impersonating a mid-level Hydra researcher who’s currently sleeping off a dose of dendroditoxin at her home. Natasha is using her identity for the ease of entry and exit, but the idea is for no one to recognize her. They can’t risk Hydra knowing about the breach, at least until they’re ready to shut down the facility.

 

The operation had been Dean’s idea. With the fall of SHIELD, and Coulson’s team largely on the defensive, they don’t exactly have the resources to infiltrate Hydra.

 

Dean knows that Coulson sent in a couple of his people, and they’re still undercover and in jeopardy. The Avengers need their own source of information, but they don’t have the manpower to embed someone—or try to embed them.

 

But Tony and Bruce are more than capable of creating a bug that’s undetectable. If this works half as well as Dean is anticipating, they’ll have a steady stream of information coming out of Hydra for the next few weeks, giving them names, locations, and future plans.

 

Back before he’d joined the Army, when he’d still been hunting with his dad, Dean never would have believed that he’d have the patience to lie on his belly for hours, providing support for a teammate.

 

These days, he knows how important each aspect of the mission is, whether it’s the hidden guy with a sniper rifle, ready to watch someone’s back, or the person who’s actually infiltrating the base, or the person in charge of supplies. He’d had missions go pear-shaped for want of a detonator cap.

 

Patience is the key word, and patience has gotten Dean a lot of places.

 

The sun is descending when Natasha’s voice comes over the radio again. “I’m out.”

 

Carefully, Dean packs up his rifle and stows his gear. It breaks down far enough that it can all go into a battered backpack, which he settles on his shoulders. He’s wearing dirty jeans and tattered, filthy layers on top, as well as a battered baseball cap.

 

Barton is wearing much the same thing, and Dean figures if anybody spots them, they’re going to assume they’re a couple of homeless guys. They’re only a few blocks away from a shelter, so they won’t look too out of place.

 

Dean’s a few blocks away when Barton falls into step beside him. “Any sign of pursuers?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Looks like we got away clean.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the tail of his flannel shirt. “In a manner of speaking.”

 

“Yeah, I want a shower and a cold beer, pretty much in that order,” Barton replies. “You interested?”

 

“I could be persuaded,” Dean replies. “Nat?”

 

“Make that a martini, and you have a deal,” she replies. “I’ll meet you both at the hotel bar once you’ve gotten out of those clothes.”

 

He and Barton have a room at a no-tell motel, and while Dean has slept in worse places, there’s no way he’ll risk the bed bugs unless he absolutely has to these days. But a couple of guys like what they’re pretending to be blend in just fine, whereas there’s no way they’d even get in the front door of the swank Miami hotel where Natasha is staying.

 

“Why Miami, do you think?” Barton asks as they enter the room.

 

“Big city, and it’s where a lot of companies have their Latin America headquarters,” Dean says. “It’s a good jumping off point for export and import, too. Plus, there’s the weather.”

 

Barton grimaces. “I wouldn’t want to be here in the summer, but November isn’t too bad.”

 

“You want first shower?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Barton says. “Thanks.”

 

The air conditioner in their room is barely putting out cool air, so Dean strips off his shirts and ball cap and starts packing up their things. When they leave here, they’ll be a couple of clean-shaven guys who were enjoying an afternoon assignation.

 

That’s one of the nice things about working for SHIELD, rather than the military. Sometimes, the best way to get information was to send in a gay couple, or to pose as one.

 

And Dean had to admit that if he just wanted a little fun and wasn’t fixated on Natasha, Barton would probably be his first choice.

 

“It’s all yours,” Barton says, coming out of the bathroom in a pair of designer jeans and a dress shirt, looking like a young professional. “I’ll switch out the bags.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean replies. He cleans up quickly and puts on his own outfit, which is a match to Barton’s.

 

They’re taking extreme precautions, but none of them want to risk Hydra finding out they’ve been anywhere near this facility. Natasha had been in charge of this part of the operation, getting their covers straight and making sure they planned for every contingency.

 

Since the success of this mission requires Hydra not finding out that the three of them are in town, they’ve got multiple identities that they’ve been switching off with for the last few days.

 

“See you on the flip side, Winchester,” Barton says as he leaves. The battered backpacks are now briefcases that will be left in lockers at the Miami airport until someone can retrieve them.

 

“Travel safe,” Dean replies.

 

Barton leaves first, and Dean follows about fifteen minutes later, heading for the hotel where he’s meeting Natasha, and they’re posing as husband and wife away for the weekend.

 

Dean has a rental car stashed a few blocks away, and he takes it back to the rental agency, where he grabs a cab to the hotel where Natasha has booked a room.

 

He strides up to the front desk and offers his most charming smile. “My wife has already checked in, I believe. Ms. Trisha Romero?”

 

The desk clerk smiles at him. “And you must be Dan Romero. Your wife said you’d be the most handsome man I’d see today.”

 

“Well, I try never to argue with her when she’s right,” Dean replies.

 

The desk clerk smiles. “I’ll still need to see some identification, Mr. Romero.”

 

“Of course,” Dean replies and pulls out the fake driver’s license, flashing it for the clerk.

 

She glances at it, sees the right name and his picture, and hands over a room key. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Romero. If there’s anything we can do for you or your wife, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

 

“Thank you,” Dean replies, palming the room key.

 

Natasha is on the phone when he lets himself into the room, talking in hushed tones with someone. “No, I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”

 

Dean doesn’t ask who she’s talking with, because if she can tell him she will.

 

“Hey,” she says when she hands up. “Everything go well?”

 

“Without a hitch,” Dean replies. “You?”

 

“We’re good,” Natasha says. “Tony says the bug is already transmitting.”

 

Dean nods. “Then we’re good. You up for staying the night, or do you want to go back right away?”

 

“We have this hotel room, why not make use of it?” Natasha replies with a smile. “We can order room service.”

 

“Sounds great,” Dean replies.

 

And it is great. Natasha seems to be in a rare mood, because she takes full control, riding Dean until he’s begging for release. When he comes, she rolls off and fucks herself on her fingers until she comes a second time.

 

“Give me a minute,” Dean says.

 

Natasha laughs throatily. “Dean, you don’t need to prove anything to me. I know exactly how good you are in the sack, and I’m well satisfied.”

 

Dean isn’t sure how to respond to that, mostly because he still can’t believe his luck that Natasha would even want to spend time with him, let alone date him—for whatever version of the word they were using.

 

“Thanks,” he says, deciding to take it as a compliment.

 

She gets up and pads over to the bathroom, naked. “Get some sleep, Dean. You’ll need your energy.”

 

Dean scrubs his hands over his face and decides to do just that. He’d spent all day on a roof under the hot sun, and he’s beat.

 

Which is why his phone chooses that moment to ring.

 

“I need you,” May says without preamble. “And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

 

“Yeah, of course, I’m there,” Dean says. “What’s up?”

 

He’s been keeping track of the news, so he knows about the UN, and about Senator Ward’s announcement that his brother was Hydra.

 

“Grant Ward has escaped,” May replies. “Coulson has been having side effects from the treatment Fury used to bring him back, and I don’t want to leave Skye alone with him right now.”

 

Dean blinks. “Okay,” he says slowly. “You know Skye isn’t going to be thrilled that you called me in.”

 

“I’d leave one of the others behind and ask you to join the manhunt, but Ward knows your face,” May replies. “And I trust you’ll respond appropriately.”

 

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that.”

 

“You know Coulson,” May says. “You—you care about him, but you also have more field experience than Skye does. Fitz will be there, as will Mack, but Mack doesn’t have the same regard for the director that you and Skye do.”

 

Dean can immediately see the lay of the land. “Yeah, I read you. Where do you need me?”

 

“The Playground.” She almost sounds relieved. “Thanks, Dean. We’re still getting some of our agents in place. I can send someone to pick you up.”

 

Dean sighs, resigning himself to sleeping on the plane, and a little surprised. He’s pretty sure that’s the first time she’s used his first name, which means she must be worried. “That would be great. I’m in Miami on the tail end of an op, so it’s going to be faster for me to get there with a pick up.”

 

There’s a pause, and May replies, “Agent Webber will be wheels up in twenty. He’ll drop us off and pick you up. There’s a private hangar SHIELD uses at Miami International, number 20. ETA is four hours.”

 

“I’ll be there,” Dean promises and glances at the clock. He could probably sleep for a couple of hours, although he wishes he had a few more clothes, maybe his uniform.

 

Natasha sits on the edge of the bed. “Who was it?”

 

“The Cavalry,” Dean jokes, although it falls a little flat. “Something is up with Coulson.”

 

“Is this about the TAHITI project?” she asks.

 

Dean frowns. “What do you know about it?”

 

Natasha hesitates. “Rumors, more than anything else. It was a project designed to bring an Avenger back from the dead. Coulson accepted volunteers from dying SHIELD agents, and it didn’t turn out well. The project was scrapped, and then Fury revived it for Coulson.”

 

“If Coulson wanted the project scrapped, Fury should have left well enough alone,” Dean says. “Bringing someone back from the dead—it usually involves a deal with the devil.”

 

Natasha gives him an odd look. “It sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

 

“My childhood was one long ghost story,” Dean replies. “I’m not—my background probably isn’t that different then the rest of the Avengers’ from the standpoint of it being completely fucked up.”

 

Natasha nods. “I’ve never asked.”

 

“I’ve never really wanted to tell,” Dean replies. “So that works out nicely.”

 

Her lips quirk. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

 

“Right, well, I hope they have some spare uniforms, because I’m going to run out of clothes pretty quick,” Dean says.

 

“I’m sure you can probably borrow from someone,” Natasha replies.

 

Dean blows out a breath. “Well, I’ve got four hours, which means I have time for a nap.”

 

Natasha smirks. “Or we could go another round.”

 

Dean wants to, oh, how he _wants to_ , but in this case, the flesh is weak. “I wish I could, but I think it would take an act of god.”

 

“Then sleep,” Natasha advises. “I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean replies sincerely. “I just—don’t think I’m going to have much time to sleep any time soon.”

 

Natasha runs a hand over his hair. “Probably not.”

 

And somehow, it’s comforting that she won’t lie to him, and won’t press for answers. It gives him strength for what’s to come.

 

~~~~~

 

“Thanks, Webber,” Dean says as he lands the Quinjet at the Playground. “It’s appreciated.”

 

“Any time, Agent Winchester,” he says. “Although if you get the chance to ask, I’d love an autograph from Captain America.”

 

Dean laughs. “Will do, although if you ask him yourself, you’ll get the chance to see him blush.”

 

Webber grins. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Dean gets out of the Quinjet to find Skye and Mack waiting for him, Skye with a thinly veiled expression of contempt, Mack with an expression of relief. “Hey, man,” Mack says.

 

Dean exchanges a quick handclasp and hug with him. They’d run into each other on the helicarrier during Dean’s brief stint there and had bonded over engines. “Lookin’ good, Mack.”

 

“You, too,” Mack says. “I heard about the promotion.”

 

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, well, it was a surprise.”

 

“Not to everybody,” Mack replies.

 

Dean glances at Skye. “I don’t want to step on your toes here. I’m just here to back you up, and make sure Coulson’s okay. He recruited me, too.”

 

Skye’s expression softens slightly. “Thanks for dropping everything. I’m sure you were probably busy.”

 

“Moderately,” Dean says. “But no one says no when the Cavalry calls.”

 

“Yeah, I got that,” Skye replies. “Mack can show you where to put your stuff.”

 

Dean nods, not wanting to step on her toes. “Of course. Holler if you need me.”

 

Skye’s expression clearly said that she’d sooner cut her own arm off. “Thanks for your support.”

 

“Right,” Dean mutters as she stalks off.

 

Mack claps him on the shoulder. “Things have been a little weird around here lately. I’d say you’ll get used to it, but I’m guessing you won’t be here long enough for that. Be grateful.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “And if you’ve got spare uniforms, I came from a mission and didn’t have time to repack.”

 

“Sure, man, of course,” Mack says. “We’ve got you covered.”

 

An hour or so later, Dean has a rack and a clean uniform, and he’s sorely tempted to make use of the bed, but he feels honor-bound to check on Coulson, even if Skye hadn’t called him.

 

Dean checks with a SHIELD agent and asks about Coulson’s whereabouts, and finds out that he’s in his office, but the agent says as much with an expression on her face that says she’s worried.

 

“Hey,” Dean says, poking his head into Coulson’s office. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

Skye looks like she’s about to kick him out, but Dean shoves his way inside. “It’s fine,” Coulson calls. “May called him in for a reason.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know,” Skye objects.

 

“Dean isn’t anyone,” Coulson replies.

 

That draws a glare from Skye. “Coulson—”

 

“Dean stays.”

 

Coulson is carving on the wall, barely looking at Dean, and he can see the sweat on Coulson’s face. He doesn’t look great, and Dean finds a seat and settles in.

 

“I don’t like this,” Skye says with a skeptical look at Dean.

 

Dean gives her a look. “You don’t have to like it, but I don’t have an ax to grind here, other than making sure Coulson is in one piece. Maybe you didn’t get the message, but I’m not SHIELD anymore.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Skye demands.

 

“I’m not going to tell anybody anything,” Dean snaps. “I’m not going to spill his secrets or campaign to have him replaced or do anything but make sure that he’s okay!”

 

Coulson keeps carving lines and circles, and Dean notices that they’re weirdly precise. He’s an engineer, and you don’t get that kind of precision freehand.

 

Skye presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sorry. I just—you’re here to babysit.”

 

“Coulson, not you,” Dean counters. “No offense, sir.”

 

“None taken.” Coulson keeps carving. “May decided it would take two of you, so if anybody is going to be offended, it’s me, and I’m not.”

 

Dean exchanges a look with Skye, and he realizes they’re both on the same page. “So, what’s the deal with the drawing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Coulson says. “It’s a thing.”

 

Dean looks to Skye. “We aren’t sure,” she admits. “But we’ve found the writing other places.”

 

“It’s a compulsion?” Dean queries, because yes, he did take Psych 101 once upon a time.

 

Coulson drops the knife on the desk. “Yeah, I think you could say that,” and there’s the edge of sarcasm Dean remembers so well.

 

Skye is staring down at her tablet. “Well, one of the alerts I set up just pinged. We have a body.”

 

Dean perks up at that, because if there’s anything his weird past did for him, it’s familiarize him with freaky deaths and how to investigate them. “Oh?”

 

“Dead body, and somebody carved those symbols in her skin,” Skye comments with an expression of distaste.

 

Dean leans in to get a look. “Not the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “It would probably be good to get a look at her place, probably the body. Can you do that?”

 

Both Coulson and Skye stare at him and Dean asks, “What?”

 

“You seem…weirdly okay with this,” Skye replies. “Like, familiar.”

 

Dean sighs. He hasn’t tried explaining his past to anybody since Scooter, although he’s pretty sure his SHIELD file is pretty complete. “My dad was a hunter, but I’m not talking about deer. He hunted weird things.”

 

“Like, how weird are we talking?” Skye asks.

 

“I killed my first ghost in grade school,” Dean replies. “That kind of weird.”

 

Skye blinks. “You’re shitting me.”

 

“He isn’t,” Coulson says, almost apologetically. “I’m kind of known for recruiting SHIELD agents with odd backgrounds. Clint was in the circus, Natasha was—well, she’d kill me if I said anything, and Dean’s dad hunted ghosts.”

 

Skye stares. “Seriously?”

 

“And I spent a couple of years in a group home before I joined the Army,” Dean says. “I’ve led a very interesting life.”

 

Skye laughs. “Yeah, you could say that. So, since you’ve done this before, and SHIELD is persona non grata, what would you do?”

 

Dean considers the question. “Depends. Do you have any problem faking ID for the FBI? Because that was usually my dad and uncle’s go-to strategy.”

 

“We could,” Skye says. “I could build us some kick ass covers.”

 

Coulson just looks amused. “Let’s go that route. We’re going to need to get the body released to us anyway, and it makes sense not to leave much of a trail to follow.” His expression falls when Skye hands him the file. “She’s a SHIELD agent.”

 

“No, she’s a school teacher,” Skye objects. “It says in her file. There’s no indication she was ever with SHIELD.”

 

“I know she was a SHIELD agent,” Coulson replies. “I remember her.”

 

Dean hesitates, then says, “Your memory was altered, which means hers might be as well. Right now, all we need to know is that somebody carved those markings on her, and that makes it our business. We can figure out the rest of it later.”

 

“I’ll work on creating our backstops,” Skye says. “Give me about an hour, and we’ll be good to go.”

 

“I knew hiring you would come in handy on multiple occasions,” Coulson jokes when she leaves.

 

“I’m not sure why I’m here, sir,” Dean says. “Skye could have handled things.”

 

“May trusts her, but thought she might need back up. I haven’t been entirely stable lately.”

 

“Happens to the best of us, sir,” Dean replies.

 

Coulson gives him a rueful look. “Maybe, but this is a little more than post-traumatic instability.”

 

Dean shrugs. “You died. There are bound to be consequences. Fury made a deal with the devil to get you back, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Coulson replies.

 

Dean smirks. “As I said, I have lived a very interesting life, and the resurrection thing is by rumor only.”

 

“How are things going with the Avengers?” Coulson asks.

 

Dean hesitates, but figures Coulson will appreciate hearing about this more than just about anybody else he knows. “They gave me a uniform.”

 

Coulson smiles. “That’s great news, Dean. Not that I’m surprised.”

 

Dean hitches a shoulder. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I still happen to think I was just in the right place at the right time.”

 

Coulson makes a thoughtful noise. “Perhaps.” His tone of voice indicates he doesn’t believe that but isn’t willing to argue.

 

Dean had enough counseling while in Sonny’s care that he’s heard all about his low self-esteem, at least in certain areas. He still doesn’t quite believe that he’s found a place with the Avengers, and he’s not going to spread it around, but he wants Coulson to know.

 

Coulson is responsible for his current good fortune, and maybe Dean just wants him to know something worked out.

 

“Get some sleep,” Coulson advises. “You look like you could use it, and while Skye is fast, you have time for a nap.”

 

Dean considers the order, then asks, “You mind if I take your couch?”

 

Coulson is clearly amused by Dean’s solicitousness. “It’s all yours.”

 

Dean stretches out. “Wake me if you need anything.”

 

He’s asleep almost immediately, a product of his military training and learning to sleep whenever and wherever he can. He wakes a little while later when Coulson says, “Winchester!”

 

Dean’s on his feet immediately. “Yes, sir!”

 

Skye laughs. “Seriously?”

 

“ _You_ serve in the Rangers and not learn to come to attention when a superior officer calls,” Dean replies, a little snappish in his tiredness. “And Director Coulson is smart enough not to shake me awake.”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot me,” Coulson agrees. “We have the backstopped identities. How do you want to split the load?”

 

Dean considers. “You and Skye have a lot more experience with the writing samples, so at least one of you should collect the body. We should also search the victim’s place. Since Coulson knew her, he should probably go on that mission.”

 

Skye grimaces, but doesn’t argue. “I guess I’ll go sign for the body, then.”

 

“Take Simmons with you,” Coulson orders. “She can help, since she’s going to do the autopsy.”

 

“Got it,” Skye replies. “Will do.” She gives Dean a hard look, and Dean knows that’s an order to take care of him.

 

He remembers that look a few hours later when he’s going through the woman’s house with Coulson, and they find her paintings. Even Dean’s non-expert eyes can see the similarities between the paintings and Coulson’s carvings.

 

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Dean comments. “It’s too similar.”

 

Coulson nods. “It’s almost all there. I’m just missing a piece.”

 

Dean nods. “You think that piece is important?”

 

“I don’t think I can rest without it,” Coulson admits.

 

“Any way you can get it back?”

 

“There’s a machine,” Coulson replies. “So, maybe.”

 

Dean nods. “If I can help you, I will.”

 

No one is happy with Coulson’s decision to go into the machine, although Skye backs the play. As far as Dean can tell, Coulson is entitled to his own memories if he wants them, and he’s an adult. He can do his own risk analysis.

 

Skye does pull Dean aside before Coulson goes into the machine, though. “Look, this is probably going to be pretty rough.”

 

Dean figures as much. “Got it.”

 

“We might need your help to hold him down,” she adds.

 

Dean doesn’t like the idea, but he can’t argue. “If that’s what he needs, of course.”

 

Watching Coulson go through the machine is one of the hardest things Dean’s had to do in a while. Coulson insists on staying in longer than he probably should, and he’s definitely compromised. By the time they get the last name, the others all agree that Coulson should be isolated for his own good.

 

Dean sees the flash of disappointment on Coulson’s face when he accompanies Skye to put Coulson in the holding cell. The emotion is even more pronounced when Skye activates the forcefield.

 

“Look, you go on up,” Dean tells Skye. “I’ll sit down here and wait with him if you want.”

 

Skye frowns, then nods. “Yeah, I should go check on how things are going with May, and give her an update.”

 

“Let me know if she needs to talk to me,” Dean replies. Once she’s gone, Dean looks at Coulson. “What do you need?”

 

“I need to see Hank Thompson,” Coulson says desperately. “I _need_ to see him, Dean.”

 

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I really think you should take it easy, sir. Let us handle it.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Coulson replies. “It’s a compulsion, and it’s driving me crazy. If I can’t see him—”

 

Dean thinks about those other people Coulson named—all dead now—who needed to paint or draw or whatever. “I can’t do that, sir. I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not safe.”

 

“You’ll be there,” Coulson argues. “You can back me up. You’re not a SHIELD agent, Dean, and I can’t order you to do this, but I need this.”

 

Dean scrubs his hands over his face and glances at the security camera. “Okay, fine. But if you try to shake me, I will knock you out and tie you up somewhere.”

 

“Agreed,” Coulson replies. “I just need to talk to him.”

 

“We’re going to go easy,” Dean warns. “This guy is a former SHIELD agent, and he hasn’t done anything wrong. We can’t treat him like he has.”

 

Coulson nods. “Of course.”

 

Dean doesn’t quite believe him, but he believes he’ll be able to pull Coulson back from the edge if necessary. “All right. But you’re going to follow my lead on this one, sir.”

 

“I think you’d better call me Phil,” he replies.

 

“At least I’m not breaking the law,” Dean mutters as he disables the forcefield. “Since SHIELD is technically not supposed to exist.”

 

Dean knows this is probably a bad idea, and that he’s probably going to be in the shit with the other SHIELD agents, but he also owes Coulson a lot.

 

And if this helps set Coulson’s mind at ease, if he can lay off the carving and stop going nuts, it’s good for him, and it’s good for whatever remains of SHIELD.

 

Hank Thompson actually lives and works within an hour’s drive of the base, which is both lucky and not. Lucky, because it’s easy to get there. Not so lucky, because it means they can be easily traced and found.

 

His house and listed place of business is in a rural area, and when they pull up in front, Dean says, “I need to know if you’re armed, sir.”

 

“I am,” Coulson admits.

 

“Then I need you to leave your weapon secured in the vehicle,” Dean replies. “I’ll bring my piece, but you’re compromised.”

 

After a moment, Coulson nods. “Fine.”

 

Thompson answers the door when Coulson knocks, and he has an honest, weathered face and seems completely confused as to who they are. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not sure what agency you’re with.”

 

Dean’s still wearing the suit he wore to search the woman’s apartment, and he has his FBI credentials. “We just want to ask a few questions about something you might have seen.”

 

“I haven’t seen anything,” Thompson replies. “I don’t understand what the FBI could want with me.”

 

“Just let us have a few minutes,” Dean sooths. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

 

He knows they’ll probably have to sit on the property until they’re sure the murderer isn’t on to Thompson.

 

“Yeah, okay, come on in,” Thompson replies, sounding concerned, but cooperative, much like any other law-abiding citizen who doesn’t think they’ve done anything wrong.

 

And Thompson hasn’t done anything wrong.

 

“Thanks,” Dean replies. “We just have a few routine questions about some folks you might know. No big deal.”

 

Thompson nods. “Okay. If I can help, I will.”

 

“Is there anybody here with you?” Dean asks.

 

Thompson hesitates. “My wife and son.”

 

“Maybe they could run an errand,” Dean suggests. “It’s no big deal, but we’ve heard about an unsavory sort in the area, and it might be best if they’re in a public location.”

 

Thompson hesitates. “Yeah, okay. I can send them into town.”

 

“Good idea,” Dean says easily. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but better safe than sorry, right?”

 

Thompson nods, and disappears deeper into the house, leaving Dean and Coulson in the front room. “You’ve done this before,” Coulson mutters.

 

“I’ve watched my dad at work,” Dean replies. “It’s a little different.”

 

Thompson reappears with a pretty blonde woman and an adorable kid, and Dean offers a reassuring smile. “Hey, sorry for the disruption,” he says, and then smiles at the kid. “You mind if we borrow your dad for a little bit?”

 

“Are you really an FBI agent?” the kid asks.

 

Dean offers his badge. “You tell me.”

 

“Awesome,” the kid says.

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Dean replies. “So you think it’s okay?”

 

The kid nods. “My dad is the best!”

 

“You know what? I believe you,” Dean replies. “I think your dad is going to be a big help with this case we’re on.”

 

They get the wife and kid out of the way, much reassured, and Thompson seems more relaxed once they’re gone. “Hey, thanks for being cool with my kid,” Thompson says.

 

“Are you kidding?” Dean asks. “I love kids, and he clearly idolizes you as much as I did with my dad at that age. You’re doing something right, man.”

 

Thompson grins. “Thanks. He’s a great kid.”

 

Dean glances at Coulson and sees that he’s struggling to come up with a question—probably because anything he says will come out as accusatory—and he says, “So, this is an ongoing investigation, and we can’t divulge a lot of details, but we think you might have knowledge that can help us.”

 

Coulson provides the photographs of the carvings. “Does this look at all familiar?”

 

Thompson looks at it. “No, I’m sorry.”

 

Dean frowns. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Thompson?”

 

“I’m a welder,” he replies.

 

“Have you built anything, Mr. Thompson?” Dean asks.

 

He appears surprised. “Yeah, I build a train set for my son.”

 

“Do you mind if we take a look at it?” Dean asks.

 

Thompson appears confused, but he nods affably. “Sure, if you think it will help.”

 

There’s a knock at the front door, and Dean glances at Thompson. “Do you think your wife would have come back already?”

 

Thompson shook his head. “No, she was going to take our son to story hour at the library. She doesn’t always go, but it seemed like a good time.”

 

“Stay here,” Coulson orders.

 

They move to the front door, and Dean stations himself to one side, his weapon at the ready. Coulson opens the door, and the other man pushes his way in, a gun in Coulson’s face, and Dean presses the barrel of his own weapon to the man’s temple. “Don’t even twitch, asshole.”

 

The man freezes, and then he takes his finger off the trigger and slowly raises his hands in the air. “I just—I want to know. I need to see where it ends.”

 

Dean pulls a zip tie out of his pocket and secures the man’s hands behind his back. “Mr. Thompson, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to see that train set now.”

 

Dean keeps control of the guy as they make their way to the barn where the train set is, and at first glance, the set up has nothing to do with what Coulson has been drawing.

 

But Dean is used to staring at blueprints and figuring out logistics, and this train set is something Thompson has spent a lot of hours on. It’s three-dimensional, and the materials Coulson and the woman used didn’t allow for that kind of perspective.

 

He and Coulson start looking around for a higher vantage point at the same time. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?” Dean asks.

 

“It’s a three-dimensional structure,” Coulson replies absently. “So, we should probably treat it as such.”

 

Dean isn’t willing to let their prisoner go anywhere, so he hauls the prisoner with him up the stairs to the catwalk. It’s not exactly a common feature in most barns, and it leads Dean to think that there’s a reason to get a bird’s eye view.

 

Not that it means much to Dean, even looking down at the complex model, but Coulson lets out a breath, and Dean’s prisoner falls to his knees. “Finally,” he says quietly. “Finally, finally. I see it now.”

 

“It’s a blueprint,” Coulson says. “A schematic.”

 

Once Coulson says it, Dean can see it. He can see the shape of the—“It’s a city.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Coulson asks.

 

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. It looks like a city to me. That’s what makes sense.”

 

Coulson appears to accept that at face value. “I’ll need to analyze it, but it’s the missing piece.”

 

“Well, we need to call someone to collect this asshole, and then I have a job to get back to,” Dean replies. “But if you need me, you know you can call, sir.”

 

“I told you to call me Phil,” he replies.

 

Dean smirks. “Yeah, people tell me a lot of things. Funny thing about my current position, I don’t have to follow anybody’s orders unless I’m in the field and it’s Cap.”

 

Coulson laughs. “Fair enough. But I probably will be calling you.”

 

“And if I can help, I will,” Dean promises just as Skye and Mack burst into the barn. “Looks like the reinforcements have arrived.”

 

“Thank you,” Coulson says quietly. “Really.”

 

Dean nods. “I’ll always owe you, sir.”

 

Coulson shakes his head. “Dean, you never did.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a relief going from the pressure of being at SHIELD to the quiet of the Tower. He takes a commercial flight back and arrives to a message from Barton about a cookout on the roof if he’s back in time.

 

Since he is, he heads up and accepts the greetings from his neighbors and a bro-hug from Barton. “How did it go?” Barton asks.

 

“I got Coulson squared away,” Dean replies. “At least, I hope so. He seemed to be in pretty good shape when I left. They’re racing Hydra to locate a major asset. I told him to call if he needed me.”

 

Barton nods. “The last mission bore fruit, so it’s good to have you back. We’ve got a line on a couple of major Hydra locations, and Steve and I are heading out day after tomorrow to run recon.”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Do you need any help with that?”

 

Barton shakes his head. “Nah, it makes sense to have someone work closely with SHIELD. We’re on the same side, so you should stay available.”

 

Dean is torn, because what Barton says makes sense, but the Avengers are still his team now. “I’ll have a talk with Steve,” Dean says. “If you guys need me, I want to be available.”

 

Barton claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t tear yourself in two, Winchester. You’re an Avenger, that’s not gonna change, but that doesn’t mean SHIELD isn’t important—to both of us.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Dean replies.

 

He doesn’t bother calling Natasha, since she’s pretty clearly on a mission of her own from what Barton said. Instead, he gets a decent night’s sleep and heads to the Tower early, knowing that Steve will likely be in the gym, since he tends to spend an hour or so there after his morning run.

 

“Dean, how’s Director Coulson?” Steve asks, rhythmically working over a punching bag.

 

“Better now, I think,” Dean replies. “He might want me to help with another mission, but if you need me—”

 

“We will,” Steve replies. “But not right away. If Coulson calls you in, it’s because he needs the manpower, and you’re the best person for the job. You make the call.”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” and Dean really means that. Coulson had been one of the best commanding officers, or handlers, he’d ever served under, but there had been more than a few who hadn’t trusted Dean. A lot of them hadn’t trusted the fact that he was a floater, so it’s a novelty to be around so many people who _do_ trust him—implicitly.

 

“You’re one of us,” Steve says easily. “You looking for a spotter?”

 

Dean is dressed for the gym, since he’d planned on his own workout, and he agrees, even though he knows Steve can lift far more than he can. As he’s spotting Steve, they talk about his recent mission with Coulson, and the coming missions and tracking Hydra.

 

It’s an easy, congenial camaraderie, and Dean relaxes into it. By the time he gets cleaned up, he’s ready to face the day, and he grabs a cup of coffee and heads to Tony’s workshop.

 

“Dean! You’re finally back!” Tony appears happy to see him, and Bruce offers a warm smile as well. “Agent didn’t poach you, did he? You’re back to stay?”

 

“Well, I told Coulson I’d pitch in if he needed me on the op he’s running, but yeah, I’m back,” Dean replies. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

 

“Good to hear,” Bruce says. “Grab a seat, and we’ll fill you in on what we’ve been able to find since Natasha planted the bug.”

 

The next few days are mostly spent on tactical planning, reviewing everything they know about Hydra and putting together a list of objectives. Dean excels at this sort of thing, and while the plans will need to change once they get the recon intel from Barton, Cap, and Natasha, they can put together a rough plan for the next few months.

 

He’s expecting an appearance from Natasha on his fifth night back in New York, and he has a chicken dish in the oven and a bottle of wine breathing on the counter. He’s even gone so far as to light some candles.

 

Neither of them is particularly romantic, but Dean figures the gesture will make Natasha laugh, one way or another.

 

When she arrives and Dean lets her inside, she shoves him back against the closed door. “Something smells good.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean asks. “Dinner’s in the oven.”

 

“I wasn’t referring to dinner,” she purrs. “Can it wait?”

 

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Dean replies. “We have another thirty minutes.”

 

Natasha smiles. “I suppose that will be adequate to take the edge off.”

 

She wants it rough, and she wants it right away, so they don’t make it any farther than his couch. They don’t even remove any clothing; they just rearrange it enough for Natasha to ride him. Since she’s obviously interested in driving, Dean focuses on staving off his orgasm until she’s satisfied.

 

He makes it, just, and is grateful that he’d thought ahead and stuck condoms in various locations around his apartment.

 

They’re halfway through dinner when his phone rings, and Dean sees the message that it’s from a private number. Dean considers ignoring it, but decides the risk is too great, and he sends Natasha an apologetic look. “Hello?”

 

“Dean, long time, no see,” someone—a woman—says. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

 

Dean frowns. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

 

“Director Coulson gave it to me,” she replies. “And I’m hurt that you don’t recognize my voice, especially after we got so cozy in Cluj-Napoca.”

 

It takes him another second to place her, and then he laughs. “Bobbi Morse, as I live and breathe.”

 

“That’s better,” she says.

 

“You still dragging that ex-husband of yours around?” Dean asks. “Because he owes me $20.”

 

Bobbi laughs. “That’s funny. Hunter claims he’s the one who won your bet.”

 

“Who are you going to believe?” Dean asks indignantly.

 

“You, which is why I’m going to tell him to pay up when we see you in a few hours,” Bobbi replies.

 

Dean frowns. “And _why_ am I going to be seeing you in a few hours?”

 

“Coulson and I are heading for San Juan in an attempt to beat Hydra to the sunken city, and we could use the extra fire power,” Bobbi replies. “He said you would be up for helping out again.”

 

“I did say that,” Dean admits. “You’re in luck. I’m between jobs at the moment. I can be there in a few hours, although I’ll need weaponry.”

 

“We can arm you, no problem,” Bobbi says. “See you there.”

 

“I’ll book a flight,” Dean promises and hangs up, then glances over at Natasha. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” she replies, rising to press a kiss to his lips. “Dinner was delicious.”

 

Dean smiles at her. “Thanks.”

 

She gives him a hard look. “Be careful.”

 

Dean knows an order when he hears one, and he offers a sloppy salute as he gets up to grab his go bag. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean manages to get a seat on the next flight out of La Guardia to San Juan, and the first person he spots at the airport is Bobbi.

 

He’d worked one mission with Bobbi and Lance Hunter, and he’d liked them both well enough. Bobbi is a straight shooter, and Hunter is a bit of a loose cannon, but he’d enjoyed his front row seat to their bickering.

 

“Good to see you again, Winchester,” Bobbi says, holding out a hand for him to shake.

 

“Same here,” Dean replies. “Glad to see you made it.”

 

Bobbi nods. “A lot of good people didn’t.”

 

“Where were you when it all went down?” Dean asks, mostly just to make conversation as they left the airport.

 

“The helicarrier,” Bobbi replies. “Things got pretty hairy there for a while. You?”

 

He shrugs. “Spent it in a cage with my brother, courtesy of that asshole, Davison.”

 

“Man, that guy was a dick,” Bobbi agrees. “I hope you killed him hard.”

 

“Barton took him out,” Dean says. “One of my favorite things to happen this year.”

 

Bobbi smiles. “I can understand that.”

 

Dean tosses his bag into the back and climbs into the passenger seat of the Jeep. “Anything I should know about?”

 

“You know about the drug that brought Coulson back,” Bobbi says.

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, so do I.”

 

“And about the alien city?” she adds.

 

Dean hitches a shoulder. “I was there when he found the schematics.”

 

“Coulson managed to locate it, but Hydra isn’t far behind. They grabbed Skye and her father from off the Bus, but we’re hoping to run them down,” Bobbi replies. “They’re heading to the city, so it’s just a matter or who gets there first.”

 

Dean nods. “Do we know what Hydra wants with it?”

 

“Hydra wants power,” Bobbi replies. “And they think the city can give them that, along with whatever’s there.”

 

Dean shrugs. “Makes sense, I guess. Who else is with us on this trip?”

 

“Fitz and Simmons, and Mack.”

 

“Great,” Dean says. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye when I was out helping Coulson the last time.”

 

“Do you know everyone, Winchester?” Bobbi asks with an eye roll.

 

Dean leans against the door. “Mack was in engineering, and I know my way around an engine. We talked horsepower a time or two when I did a tour on the helicarrier. I did two missions with Barton, and then Fury said we weren’t allowed to go out together anymore. And I worked with you and Hunter once on that human trafficking ring because I spent time in Eastern Europe, and I know my way around.”

 

“You do get around, Winchester,” Bobbi agrees. “Word is, Hill handpicked you to be the Avengers’ liaison _because_ you couldn’t settle at SHIELD.”

 

Dean bristles. “Which is why Coulson wanted me on this mission, I’m sure.”

 

“Easy there, tiger,” Bobbi replies. “I’m just saying that this is a team effort, and you’re not exactly known for working with a team.”

 

Dean thinks about Scooter, and the other guys on his team, and how they’d been like family. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Morse.”

 

He stares straight out the windshield, knowing that he might say something that he’ll regret later.

 

“Might” being the operative word.

 

Bobbi clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I made assumptions based on rumors. Coulson thinks you’re okay, and that’s good enough for me.”

 

Dean nods, but he doesn’t reply. He knows what his reputation in SHIELD had been, that he’s never had a permanent team or a partner. Dean was a floater, moving up through the ranks quickly, but never quite finding his niche—at least not until Hill had asked him to protect Tony Stark.

 

He doesn’t have a defense, though, other than the uniform sitting in his duffel bag, and he figures he’ll let that be a surprise.

 

“We’re keeping things quiet, so Mack, Fitz, and Simmons are at the Quinjet outside the city,” Bobbi says after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I’m meeting my contact shortly, so I can drop you in town, and you can shadow us.”

 

“Sounds good,” Dean replies.

 

And that’s all Dean says until Bobbi parks near a public square. “Here we are.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean replies and grabs his bag. “See you later.”

 

He shoulders his bag and begins to wander around, keeping a close eye on Bobbi as she meets Coulson, looking like a couple of tourists. Dean puts on a pair of shades and pretends to browse at the various vendors’ tables around the square, and then drifts closer to Coulson when Bobbi leaves his side to meet a man in a linen suit.

 

Dean keeps his distance, as much as he’d like to get some answers from Coulson and watches as Bobbi returns to Coulson’s side, and they head for the wall surrounding El Viejo San Juan.

 

The old garrison is a draw for tourists, and Dean leans against the wall and looks out at the ocean, watching Coulson and Bobbi from the corner of his eye. When they head down to the old sentry tower, Dean follows.

 

“It won’t be easy to get equipment down there,” Coulson is saying. “Get ahold of Diego and see if he can help us out.”

 

Then he adds, “And Dean, get down there and guard the entrance. I want to be sure we’re not interrupted.”

 

Dean doesn’t reply, because that’s spycraft 101, and he heads down. The tower is open to the public, which means he needs a way to keep people out, and that’s where his uniform is going to come in really handy.

 

He climbs down to the guard tower and grimaces when he realizes there’s no way to bar the door. He’s just going to have to hope no one comes in while he’s changing.

 

Dean has worn his uniform enough now that it doesn’t feel as weighty as the first time he put it on. In spite of the heat outside, the guard tower is cool and damp, and the lightweight coat feels good.

 

He’s not sure what fabric Tony used for the Avengers’ uniforms, but it’s light, breathable, and waterproof, while still being warm. Dean has no idea how they managed that, but it’s probably the most comfortable uniform he’s ever worn.

 

Dean settles in to wait, but while the guard tower is a little eerie, no one even tries to gain entrance. Maybe it’s too far from the main wall, without the kind of view offered by higher vantage points. Maybe there’s another reason.

 

After all, if this is the entry point to a city below San Juan, an alien place, it would stand to reason that stories would have sprung up around it. Dean has plenty of experience with the formation of myths and legends around things that are real, but that no one believes in anymore.

 

Unless they’re hunters, anyway.

 

Dean has seen ghosts, and he knows werewolves and vampires are real. Aliens aren’t that big of a leap for him, all told.

 

He hears approaching footsteps and melts back into the shadows, the blue-black of his uniform blending in.

 

Coulson steps into the lower chamber of the guard tower, and Dean steps away from the wall. “Did you find help with the equipment?” he asks.

 

“Diego refused to assist us,” Coulson replies. “Apparently, this place is haunted.”

 

Dean laughs. “Trust me, sir. I know from haunted, and this place isn’t.”

 

Coulson hums. “I do trust you, Dean. That’s the main reason you’re here.”

 

“And you don’t trust the rest of your team?” Dean asks.

 

Coulson puts his backpack down. “I trust them, but we’re operating under a great deal of strain right now, and both Bobbi and Mack are hiding something from me. Bobbi doesn’t entirely trust me, and there’s tension between Fitz and Simmons, too.”

 

Dean nods slowly. “But you trust me?”

 

“I think that uniform indicates that my trust wasn’t misplaced, and it still isn’t,” Coulson says.

 

Dean shrugs uncomfortably. “Bobbi just reminded me that I’m not a team player, and I couldn’t find a place at SHIELD.”

 

Coulson frowns. “Is that really what you think?”

 

“It’s what everybody else thinks, isn’t it?” Dean demands.

 

Coulson is quiet for a long moment. “Do you know how long it took Barton to find his niche? Or Romanoff?”

 

“That’s different,” Dean objects. “They’re Avengers.”

 

Coulson gives the patch on his shoulder—the stylized “A” the Avengers have adopted as their own—a significant look.

 

“Romanoff is the best spy in the business, and Barton is the best marksman SHIELD had,” Dean says. “I’m a good, solid, agent, but there are plenty of people who were better and smarter, and just about everything more than me.”

 

“I recommended you for the Avengers Initiative,” Coulson replies. “And I did so because you’re a good, solid agent, and because you would do everything you could to ensure the success of the mission. That’s what people miss when they look at you, Dean. Do you know why you never had a permanent team or partner at SHIELD?”

 

Dean hesitates. “I assumed it was because I was needed elsewhere, and maybe a little because no one wanted me on a permanent basis.”

 

Coulson shakes his head. “Fury had half a dozen requests to have you on a permanent basis.”

 

“Then he turned down the offers?” Dean asks.

 

“On my recommendation,” Coulson agrees.

 

Dean looks at him. “And you’re not going to tell me why.”

 

“Because you would have been wasted in a single assignment,” Coulson replies. “Because it was important that you have a breadth of experience, and a familiarity with SHIELD. You know, other than Strike Force Delta, I never had a team. I was also a floater.”

 

Dean blinks. “But you’re awesome!”

 

Coulson smiles. “You’re just saying that because I saved your life.”

 

“Well, maybe,” Dean admits.

 

“You didn’t find your team inside SHIELD,” Coulson says. “You’ve found them now, and they chose you. That’s something to be proud of, you know.”

 

They’re interrupted by the entrance of Bobbi and Mack, both hauling heavy loads, and Mack whistles. “Winchester, you lucky devil. That is one sweet uniform.”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Dean replies with a glance at Bobbi. “Can I give you a hand?”

 

“We’ve got more equipment to carry down, but Fitz could probably need some help setting up the winch,” Bobbi says. “Plus, you’re a little conspicuous.”

 

Dean hitches a shoulder. “Maybe, but if anybody had entered, it would have been easy to convince them to leave since I was obviously on official Avengers business.”

 

Bobbi glances at the patch on his shoulder. “I might have been a little hasty on my comments about teamwork.”

 

Dean shrugs it off. “It came as a surprise to me, too.”

 

Mack raises his eyebrows, but all he says is, “I’ll send Fitz down to help set up.”

 

Fitz comes down with a relatively light load next. “Oh, uh, hey, Agent W-W—”

 

“Good to see you, Fitz,” Dean says, relieving him of his load. “You’ll help me set up, I hope. And call me Dean.”

 

“Dean,” Fitz manages. “Happy to.”

 

Coulson goes back up to help, and Dean helps Fitz set up the winches. “How are you doing, Leo?”

 

“I’m all right,” Fitz replies.

 

“Good to hear,” Dean says, not calling him on the obvious falsehood. “It seemed like you were struggling a bit the last time I saw you.”

 

Fitz focuses on what he’s holding. “I’m—I’m not—it’s different.”

 

“Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad,” Dean says quietly, trying to encourage him. “And sometimes it leads you somewhere you never would have been otherwise.”

 

“Maybe,” Fitz replies, and Dean lets it go. They’re not friends, and he doesn’t have the words to convince Fitz that life isn’t so bad, that even when your whole life crumbles, you can still rebuild.

 

Dean could probably have told him his own story, but the others are coming in and out, and that’s a conversation he doesn’t want to have in front of them. It’s not a story he tells lightly, or really ever.

 

Bobbi enters with her load and says, “How are things going? Do you need any help?”

 

“Fitz has it covered, and I’m helping out,” Dean replies. “We’re fine.”

 

Bobbi nods. “All right then. Let me know if that changes.”

 

He and Fitz share a conspiratorial look, and then they finish setting up the winches. Dean starts checking his harness while Fitz goes over Mack’s. Dean is definitely picking up a vibe between the two of them, and he sees Mack crouch down next to Fitz to check on him.

 

Mack puts a gentle hand on Fitz’s shoulder, and Dean sees Fitz smile, and he’s glad that someone is looking out for him.

 

Dean finishes checking his harness and pulls back while Mack brings out the torch.

 

“Any advice for when we’re down there?” Dean asks Coulson.

 

Coulson hesitates. “Be careful. Fitz and Simmons think that the structural integrity is good, but we have no idea whether there are any traps. I’d like both of you to come back up in one piece.”

 

“So, we shouldn’t take anything out of there,” Dean clarifies.

 

“Probably not,” Coulson agrees. “There’s no guarantee we’ll even be able to get into the main area where those dosed with GH-325 wanted to go, but it’s alien. If you make a wrong move, there’s a chance you won’t come back.”

 

Dean nods. “We’ll be careful, sir.” He glances over at Mack. “He and Fitz are close. Are you at all concerned about how Fitz would respond if something happens to him?”

 

“It’s crossed my mind,” Coulson admits. “That being said, I don’t view either of you—or anyone else—as expendable. Do whatever you need to do to come back up safely.”

 

Dean nods. “Understood.”

 

There’s a thump and crash, and when Dean turns, there’s a square hole in the floor large enough for both him and Mack to go down, as long as they stagger things a bit. “I guess that’s my cue,” Dean says.

 

He checks the harness one more time as he puts it on, and then allows Simmons to connect him to the second winch while Fitz does the same for Mack.

 

“Three sharp tugs means we’ll pull you up immediately,” Coulson says. “No heroics.”

 

“Got it,” Mack replies. “Strictly recon.”

 

“Hey, I’ve got a beautiful woman to go home to,” Dean jokes. “No way am I going to risk not coming back.”

 

“Be careful,” Coulson replies.

 

Dean glances at Mack. “You got a preference on who goes first?”

 

Mack snorts. “You’re the Avenger, Winchester. You go first.”

 

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Dean admits, and then begins his descent into the shaft. He has an LED light that helps break up the darkness, but the shaft is deep, and when he finally reaches the bottom, he can’t see much.

 

He finds a small robot on the ground, and sees lines and circles etched into the stone, and he starts to brush the dirt aside as Mack lands. “See anything?”

 

“Lines and patterns,” Dean replies. He’s seen pictures of Coulson’s drawings, and he can see the similarity. “We’re definitely in the right place, but I have no idea where we’re supposed to go from here.”

 

“Maybe nowhere,” Mack suggests. “Coulson wanted us to tread cautiously.” He bends down to examine the lines and circles as well. “This is interesting. It looks a lot like what Coulson was drawing.”

 

The lines begin to glow, and Mack hisses in pain, pulling his hand back quickly. Dean leans in with his flashlight and sees the raised lines on Mack’s palm. “Oh, shit.”

 

Mack lets out a groan of pain, and Dean tugs on Mack’s line sharply. “Hey! Pull him up! Something’s wrong!”

 

Mack gets hoisted slowly, and Dean feels the tug of his harness as he begins to be pulled up right after him.

 

By the time Dean is out of the shaft, Mack is on the ground, looking like he’s in the middle of a seizure, and Dean wastes no time getting out of his own harness. Coulson is shouting for help, and Dean has just managed to free himself when Mack gets to his feet, and Dean hears him say, “ _Run_.”

 

Mack doesn’t give Coulson any time to run, though, because he hits Coulson in the chest, and he goes flying.

 

“Coulson!” Bobbi shouts, and Mack turns on her.

 

Dean has no idea what has infected Mack, but he summons his best sergeant voice, the one he’s used for crowd control in the past, and shouts, “Mack! Stand down!”

 

Mack stops cold, coming to a complete standstill, his expression eerily blank.

 

“What did you do?” Bobbi demands.

 

“I don’t know!” Dean replies.

 

Coulson picks himself up slowly. “Did you touch anything down there?”

 

“Both of us did,” Dean admits. “There were lines etched in the floor. I inspected them, and nothing happened. He brushed some dirt away, and they started to glow, and then the lines showed up on his hand, and he started seizing, so I tugged the line.”

 

He frowns, and decides to try something. “Mack, guard the entrance.”

 

Which is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Mack drops through the hole in the floor, sans harness, before Dean can countermand the order. “Shit.”

 

“What the hell, Winchester?” Bobbi demands.

 

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps. “I’m not used to giving orders to other SHIELD agents and having them followed, okay? I make suggestions, and people ignore them.”

 

“Then what happened with Mack?” Coulson asks.

 

Dean throws up his hands. “I told you, I don’t _know_!”

 

Fitz snaps his fingers. “What’s different about Dean?”

 

“I’m wearing an Avengers uniform?” Dean hazards.

 

“What if Dean has a genetic advantage?” Fitz asks.

 

Dean frowns. “I’m immune to influence because, what, I have alien DNA?”

 

Coulson hesitates. “It’s possible. Not everyone reacted to the GH-325 the same way, and we know there are those with special abilities.”

 

“I’m not special,” Dean objects.

 

“But maybe there’s potential that the security system recognized,” Simmons says. “And whatever it did to Mack, it created a sentinel to protect the city from anyone other than those recognized as belonging there.”

 

Dean lets out a breath. “So, we don’t go down there.”

 

Coulson nods. “Seal the entrance. Until we know for sure, I don’t want anybody going down there, especially Agent Winchester.”

 

Dean knows he might be the best person to go after Mack and get back out safely, but the underground city scares him, in a way he’s not used to dealing with. If there’s something in his DNA that could present problems, he’d just as soon it remained buried.

 

On the other hand, he hates leaving a man behind, when it’s partially his fault that Mack is still down there.

 

“What about Mack?” Bobbi demands.

 

“We can’t risk anyone else, and we have no idea how the city will affect Dean,” Coulson replies.

 

Dean hesitates. “Yeah, but I’m also the only one who could possibly control Mack and maybe get him back. Maybe it should just be me going down there.”

 

“Hydra is on the way,” Bobbi says. “We know that.”

 

“We could destroy it,” Simmons says. “We have the explosives.”

 

“What about Mack?” Bobbi demands. “We can’t just leave him down there. We have no idea whether he’s hurt, or if he can come back from this.”

 

Dean takes a deep breath. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pull rank. I think I can reach Mack, and I’m immune to whatever it is that affected him. I’m not leaving a man behind if I can help it.”

 

Coulson stares at him for a long moment. “We may still have to blow it up, Dean.”

 

Dean nods. “Then do it. If we’re out, we’re out. If not—tell my brother—tell him I was doing the right thing.”

 

Coulson hesitates. “The electronics don’t work down there. We won’t have coms.”

 

“So, let me blow the city,” Dean counters. “My expertise is demolitions. I can handle it.”

 

“I don’t like it,” Bobbi protests.

 

“What don’t you like?” Dean asks. “The fact that I’m going after Mack, or that I’m immune?”

 

“I don’t like not knowing what its effect on you is going to be,” Bobbi replies.

 

Coulson looks down, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I agree with Dean. He’s an Avenger, and he is the person most likely to get Mack under control.” He holds up a hand to stave off protests. “And while I agree that we can’t risk Hydra gaining control of the city, I trust Agent Winchester to make the right call.”

 

“Unless he’s compromised!” Bobbi exclaims.

 

Dean takes a deep breath and remembers that if he were compromised, he might not know about it. “Okay, maybe, but I came back up from that underground city the same person I’ve always been, and Mack went down there, and then he went nuts. That tells you something.”

 

Coulson nods. “We can’t afford to lose an agent if we can avoid it, and Dean is the person in the best position to recover him.”

 

“No one’s going to be here to get you guys back up,” Fitz protests. “I should stay to operate the winch.”

 

Coulson shakes his head. “I can’t leave you here by yourself, and I can’t spare the extra manpower.”

 

Dean is trying to think of a good solution to the problem, especially since he might have to haul up Mack’s unconscious body—and that’s not even the worst-case scenario.

 

“Leave the winches, a rope, and the harness,” Dean suggests. “If I have to, I’ll get Mack into the harness, climb up, and then drag him up with the winch. Just seal that door.”

 

Coulson frowns. “We can’t come back for you, Dean. If you do this, we may yet be forced to blow the city to prevent Hydra from taking control.”

 

“I trust you, sir. You’ll choose the best course of action.” Dean believes every word he says.

 

Coulson takes a deep, audible breath, and then he says, “Okay. Just please don’t make me tell Stark and Banner that I lost their team member.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Dean replies. “Thank you. Fitz, lower Mack’s harness down. Leave mine down there.”

 

“Dean,” Bobbi says, grabbing his arm. “I don’t want to lose both of you.”

 

“I’m the king of lost causes, Bobbi,” Dean replies. “And I don’t believe he’s a lost cause.”

 

Bobbi nods. “Good luck.”

 

Dean doesn’t really want to go back underground, or risk having the same thing happen to him as happened to Mack. They don’t know for sure that he’s immune, but he also can’t see just leaving Mack down there. Maybe he’s not Mack anymore, but Dean knows that there’s such a thing as demonic possession, and there’s usually a way to save the victim.

 

Granted, it’s not a demon, but it might as well be. Worst case scenario, maybe he knocks Mack out and tries an exorcism.

 

When Dean’s feet touch ground at the end of the deep shaft, he unbuckles the harness and lets it hang. He pulls on gloves as a precaution. They’re technically part of his uniform, meant to be used in cold weather when Dean needs to keep his fingers supple to fire his weapon.

 

Stiff fingers are no man’s friend on the field of battle.

 

Dean uses his boot to remove more of the dirt away from the lines in the floor, revealing a little more of the pattern, but it doesn’t tell him anything. He raises his LED light and begins to explore, feeling cut off from the world in a way that rarely happens.

 

Here, there are no cell phones, the coms don’t work, and other than Mack, he’s down here alone. If he can’t find Mack and get him out before they have to blow the city, Dean’s not getting out alive.

 

The underground tunnels are extensive, and Dean doesn’t get far before he realizes that he’s going to need to mark his passage somehow.

 

He doesn’t have much on him, but he finds a stone on the floor, and he can scratch arrows into the wall to indicate which direction he went in case he passes this way again.

 

Dean explores cautiously, not wanting to trigger another booby-trap, or whatever had ensnared Mack, but he doesn’t see anything—not Mack, not another entrance or exit, nothing.

 

Then he enters a room, and there’s a pillar in the middle of the room with a flat top, and Dean stops, feeling a strange presence, something he can’t quite define or grasp. He’s been in places with a ghost; this is different and similar, all at the same time.

 

Being here feels momentous.

 

Dean walks the perimeter of the room slowly, looking for any clues as to what this place is really all about. He wished he had access to that 3-D map he’d only caught a glimpse of, but then, it’s not like there are directions.

 

 _Don’t let Hydra into the city, Coulson says,_ Dean grumbles silently. _Come save the world, he says. The fuck am I supposed to do now?_

 

The room makes him uncomfortable, and he still hasn’t found Mack, so he heads back out. He runs into Agent Triplett a few minutes later.

 

Dean is surprised to see him, since he thought Coulson wasn’t going to send anybody else down into the city. “What are you doing down here?”

 

“Skye is here,” Trip replies. “I have to protect her.”

 

The impulse is admirable, but whatever happens down here, Dean is pretty sure he’s safe from the effects of the alien whatever and Trip isn’t, based on what happened to Mack. “You can’t be down here. I’ll look for Skye. I swear, I’ll protect her, but I need you to see if you can find Mack, okay?”

 

Trip hesitates. “Yeah, okay. You’ve got this?”

 

“I got this, man,” Dean assures him. “Go.”

 

He doesn’t know Trip well, but the man glances at the patch on Dean’s uniform and takes off. Dean has to find Skye now, too, and he decides to let instinct be his guide. Whatever is going on here, whatever this ancient city means to people with a trace of alien blood, Dean doesn’t understand it, but he can use it.

 

Dean let his feet lead him back to the chamber with a pedestal, and he can see a woman placing a metallic object on it. Skye is in there as well, and the doors begin to close, trapping the unknown woman and Skye inside.

 

There’s a split second where Dean has to make a choice—to stay outside or dive in—and Dean stays where he is.

 

Maybe that makes him a coward, and if Dean was just risking death, he would have gone in, but it isn’t death he fears.

 

Dean paces outside anxiously, and then feels the ground begin to shake. “Oh, this really isn’t good,” he mutters.

 

He should run, but Skye might need him to pull her out of the wreckage, and this is a danger that he’s intimately familiar with. The door crumbles and Dean darts inside. The ground is still shaking, and he sees the pedestal. The silver device is open, but whatever was inside is gone now because it stands empty.

 

Dean catches a glimpse of the other woman, ducking out a newly made door, and Skye is crumpled on the floor, staring at her hands.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, kneeling next to her. “We need to get out of here.”

 

“Did you see what happened?” Skye asks.

 

Dean hesitates. “Not really. The other woman left.”

 

“She’s alive?” Skye asks.

 

He shrugs. “Looked alive to me. Come on. Medical needs to check you out.”

 

Skye shakes her head, and Dean feels the ground tremble again. “I don’t need medical. I’m fine.”

 

Dean frowns. “Skye—”

 

“I’m fine!”

 

When the ground trembles again, Dean frowns. “You can tell me what happened.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“All right, come on,” Dean says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

 

She tries to shrug off his assistance, but Dean can feel her trembling, and he just makes sure to have a firm grip. The tremors stop, and Dean begins to get a sneaking suspicion about where those quakes are coming from.

 

They run into Coulson, Mack, and Trip on their way out, and Coulson’s look of pure relief when he sees Skye tells Dean how much he cares. “Skye, Dean, are you okay?”

 

“We’re good,” Dean replies. “Skye needs medical. She was exposed to whatever that metal thing was.”

 

“I’m fine,” Skye repeats.

 

“You, Mack, and Dean are all going to clear medical,” Coulson says. “That’s an order.”

 

“You first, sir,” Dean replies evenly, taking in Coulson’s battered appearance.

 

Coulson sighs. “I had forgotten how stubborn you are.”

 

“Happy to provide you with a reminder, sir,” Dean says cheerfully.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Mack says when the ground trembles a bit under their feet. “This structure might not be sound.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean has no trouble with medical, and they clear Mack quickly and patch Coulson up, but Skye gets stuck in quarantine. Medical wants to be sure whatever was in that obelisk isn’t going to mess her up.

 

Dean has his own suspicions about that, and he stops to see her before he leaves. Coulson wants to blow one of the vertical shafts to flood the city, and Simmons is working on assessing the structural integrity.

 

He could offer to help, but Dean wants to get as far away from the city as he can. He knows that whatever’s in that city changes people, and he doesn’t want to be one of those people.

 

Dean should probably go to Coulson with his suspicions about Skye, but he’s not going to fuck her over either. She’ll have to come clean on her own, but Dean figures he can at least give her a heads up.

 

Skye is in a glass quarantine room, and Dean glances around to make sure they’re not being recorded.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

Skye gives him a dirty look. “Hey. I guess they cleared you.”

 

“Unlike you, I wasn’t in that room when the obelisk opened,” Dean replies. “I wanted to apologize for that.”

 

Skye frowns. “For what?”

 

“I could have been in there with you,” Dean replies. “I knew—well, after what happened to Mack, I knew I was probably immune in a way Trip wasn’t. I sent him after Mack, and I told him I’d get you out.”

 

Skye shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have gone down there in the first place. If I hadn’t…”

 

When she trails off, Dean says quietly, “You should tell him yourself.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Skye says, sounding just as stubborn as Dean.

 

“I saw Raina both before and after,” Dean replies. “I figure it’s not my place to say anything. That’s up to you.”

 

Skye won’t meet his eyes. “There’s nothing to say.”

 

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Dean replies. “Look, I’ll leave my number. You need something, even if it’s just to talk, you’ll know how to reach me.”

 

Skye glances at him. “Thanks.”

 

Dean nods, passing Trip on his way out. “Take care of yourself, man,” Trip says.

 

“You, too,” Dean replies, clasping his hand.

 

He swings by Coulson’s office on his way out. “I’m heading home, sir.”

 

“Thanks for helping out,” Coulson replies.

 

Dean nods. “Look, it might not be my place to say, but this whole thing with the woman and the temple and the device, I think there’s more to it than just Hydra wanting it.”

 

“I agree,” Coulson replies. “We know from experience that there’s an alien presence. I’d appreciate it if you kept an ear to the ground for me.”

 

Dean doesn’t have a problem with that. “Sure thing. Happy to.”

 

“Good luck, Dean,” Coulson says, shaking his hand.

 

Dean grins. “Don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

 

Coulson tips his head in an acknowledgement. “But luck never hurts.”

 

“No, it never does,” Dean replies.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s first stop after getting back into the city is the Tower, rather than his apartment. He knows Natasha is off on a mission, and he feels the need to talk to Bruce.

 

He trusts Bruce to give him an honest opinion, the way he once trusted Sonny. Granted, he still trusts Bobby, but Bobby isn’t involved in this life.

 

“Hey, Dean,” Bruce says, greeting him with a warm smile. “How did things go with Director Coulson?”

 

Dean shrugs. “It went all right, but there was some information that came out of the city that might affect me.”

 

“Shoot,” Bruce invites. “I’m listening.”

 

Dean gives him a rundown of what had happened, including Mack’s response. “He was fine by the end,” Dean says. “Medical cleared him, said that whatever was in his system was out, and they didn’t find anything wrong with me.”

 

“It’s possible that there’s something to do with Mack,” Bruce points out. “It might not be you at all.”

 

Dean frowns. “You don’t believe that.”

 

“I think it’s a possibility,” Bruce replies. “What about Skye and this other woman?”

 

“Pretty sure Skye can cause earthquakes,” Dean admits. “I didn’t tell Coulson.”

 

“And the other woman?”

 

“She wasn’t human when she left that room,” Dean says. “She had spines, her eyes were different—I just caught a glimpse, but that much was clear enough.”

 

Bruce nods. “And you’re worried that you’re a ticking time bomb, that if you’re exposed to the same substance they were, you’ll change, too.”

 

“I grew up hunting monsters,” Dean replies. “And I can’t help but wonder what happens if…”

 

He trails off, realizing how that question is going to sound. “And wow, that was a totally dickish thing to say.”

 

Bruce actually laughs at him. “Dean, I know how you feel about the other guy, and I’ve seen how you treat me. Do you know how many people have said they don’t see me as a monster when their actions say the opposite?”

 

“Every SHIELD liaison that came before me?” Dean hazards.

 

“Something like that,” Bruce replies. “Why don’t you think of me as a monster?”

 

Dean blinks. “Because you _aren’t_. You’re the guy who cooks team dinners and listens to me bitch about my kid brother and goes to the farmer’s market with me. You’re— _you_.”

 

Bruce smiles, clearly pleased. “And you’re the guy who helps me cook team dinners and goes to the farmer’s market and took a bullet for me. What would make you a monster?”

 

“If I’m not human—” Dean stops. “Yeah, I hear you, doc.”

 

Bruce hesitates. “Dean, I’m not going to pretend I know what you went through growing up, and I’m sure your dad had his reasons for making the choices that he did. But who we are is not always dictated by _what_ we are.”

 

Dean smiles. “You know, Sonny used to say that what we did in the past didn’t matter nearly as much as what we do today, right now, in this moment and every one that comes after.”

 

“Sonny was a smart man,” Bruce replies.

 

“You think you could give that speech to Sam if it comes down to it?” Dean asks.

 

“Do you think that’s going to be necessary?”

 

Dean thinks about the feeling he got in that city, and he says, “I don’t know. You ever get a feeling like destiny is nipping at your heels?”

 

“No, but that doesn’t mean your feeling is invalid,” Bruce replies. “You going to be okay?”

 

Dean smiles. “Sure, doc. I’m fine.”

 

“Do you want to stay for dinner tonight?” Bruce asks.

 

“Am I going to be intruding on a date night?” Dean counters. “Because if so, hard pass.”

 

Bruce laughs. “No, in fact Tony is out of town on business for Stark Industries. Why don’t you hang out? There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to try.”

 

Dean gives him a suspicious look. “This isn’t one of your hippie, vegan places, is it?”

 

“No, it’s a hole-in-the-wall Lebanese restaurant,” Bruce replies. “The last time I took Tony to one of those places, it was front page news and the restaurant didn’t stick around much longer.”

 

Dean frowns. “Bad press?”

 

“Too much business is a thing that can happen,” Bruce says. “If they’re not expecting it.”

 

Dean could see how that would be the case. “Then I’d be happy to be your dinner buddy, doc.”

 

Bruce gives his duffel bag a look. “You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t want to go back to your place.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Dean insists. “Although I don’t really want to be alone this evening, so I do appreciate the invitation.”

 

“I appreciate the company,” Bruce says. “Say, around 7?”

 

“I’ll be here,” Dean promises.

 

He uses the afternoon to get through his mail and pay his bills. There are laundry facilities in the basement, and Dean does a couple of loads before he has to head back to the Tower.

 

Dinner is cheap and delicious—grilled lamb and salads, warm, soft pita bread, plenty of sauces and dips, all served family-style. Under Bruce’s gentle questions, Dean spills more details about his time with Coulson’s team and the city under old San Juan, plus his childhood on the road and his time in the group home.

 

Bruce is quiet for a long moment. “Your father sounds like a man under tremendous strain.”

 

Dean recognizes the diplomatic response. “He was, but there’s nothing you could say that my old team didn’t. He could have gone through the motions to get me back and keep Sammy, and he didn’t, and I’ll never know why because he’s dead. There might have been a good reason, a reason I didn’t know about, but his letter didn’t make that clear.”

 

Bruce nods. “You don’t talk about them much.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your old team. Or the people you worked with at SHIELD,” Bruce says. “Either, both. Take your pick.”

 

Dean eats another piece of lamb. “The old team died. They were my family, and then they were gone, and it was like—I don’t know. I was the last man standing, and I didn’t want to shove that in their families’ faces, but also they didn’t really seem to _want_ to stay in touch. And I never really settled with anybody at SHIELD, as I was reminded by Coulson’s people.”

 

“Maybe that’s because you weren’t meant to,” Bruce suggests. “Maybe you found your way to the place you are now because you were meant to be here.”

 

Dean gives him a look. “Far be it from me to argue, but that seems a little fatalistic for a scientist.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’m a nuclear physicist. We know there’s such a thing as entangled particles, even if we don’t understand everything about them.”

 

Dean laughs. “I’m going to pretend I know what that means, because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t understand the explanation.”

 

Bruce grins. “Let’s just say that I’m starting to become a believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason.”

 

“You and Tony?” Dean asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “It’s probably selfish of me to say this, because the other guy has caused a lot of damage, but these days I’m pretty happy with where I’m at.”

 

Dean smiles. “Yeah, so am I.”

 

“Then I guess we’re both a couple of lucky bastards,” Bruce replies, and offers his water glass in a toast.

 

~~~~~

 

Sokovia is the next Hydra base they’ve targeted to shut down, but they need more information. Dean does the math, and he figures he and Clint are the best people to go to assess Hydra’s strength. Their faces aren’t well known, and they have a better chance of flying under the radar.

 

Natasha could go, but she’s on another mission, probably for Fury, maybe having something to do with Barnes, Dean isn’t clear on that.

 

But Dean has operated in Eastern Europe before, and he has a rudimentary grasp of both the language and the culture, and he thinks he and Clint can get in and out with the information they need.

 

Tony has created backstopped identities for him and Clint, with Steve on standby to provide exfil. They fly in on separate airlines, into separate cities. Dean flies directly into Sokovia’s capital and stays at a backpacker’s hostel, since that’s his cover while in the country. Clint is flying into Moldova and driving in to meet Dean.

 

Dean falls into the state of relatively alert slumber that he mastered while a Ranger, where he gets sleep, but is ready to move at a moment’s notice.

 

He has time to wander around the city, get a read for the people and the culture, and he gets the sense of a country in the midst of unrest. There are ongoing protests, particularly among students, but nothing that seems like it will cause an immediate problem.

 

Although some of the anti-American sentiment might. Dean shoots off a quick text to Clint. Neither of them is great at accents, but they can downplay their nationality.

 

Dean goes back to the hostel and hits the rack. In spite of the jet lag, he gets a solid seven hours, and is up early the next morning to meet up with Clint to engage in stealth recon. Once he’s out of the city, near their meeting point, he puts on his winter camo gear in mottled white and earth tones.

 

He settles in, feeling the cold but ignoring it, waiting for Clint to join him.

 

When Barton shows up, he’s carrying the cached weapons, although they’re both hoping that they don’t need them.

 

In silence, they assemble the sniper rifles, then strap them on, and set off with hand signals and nods. Even though they could have split up and covered more ground, they judged it to be too much of a risk.

 

Strucker’s fortress is just that, and it’s apparent that it’s well guarded with a ton of Hydra goons and impressive defenses. They’re going to have to make a tactical plan for a full assault, and it’s going to take the entire team, that much is obvious.

 

They take pictures, and Dean thinks they’ve gotten away clean until someone starts shooting at them.

 

“Split up,” Clint orders. “Meet you at the exfil point.”

 

Dean nods and peels off. He has to move fast because the Hydra goons have ATVs, but this is one area where he’s always excelled. Dean manages to find a hollow under a tree, and he holes up in there and slows his breathing.

 

When the sun sets, and Hydra seems to clear out, Dean makes his way back to his vehicle. He gets out of his winter camo and drives to the exfil point, abandoning the few possessions he’d left at the hostel.

 

His luck runs out on the way to the exfil point, though, when he hears the sirens start up behind him. Dean pulls over while cursing bitterly. As established as Strucker is here, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Hydra owns the police department.

 

Dean rolls down the window, then places his hands on the steering wheel. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid getting blinded by the flashlight. He hears the click of a safety being released and smells gun oil, and he moves quickly, relying on instinct. He grabs the gun, and it goes off right next to his ear.

 

His ears are ringing, but he twists the gun out of the cop’s grip with one hand and punches him in the throat with the other hand. When he glances over, the passenger window has been shattered, and the second cop is nowhere to be seen.

 

Dean shoves the door open hard, knocking the first cop to the ground, and rolls out of the vehicle, landing in a crouch on the ground. He knocks the choking man out with one blow to the head, and then moves around the car to get eyes on the second cop, who was apparently shot by the first when the gun went off.

 

“Incompetent,” Dean mutters.

 

He drags the dead guy into the backseat and grabs the hat and uniform shirt off the unconscious cop before stashing him in the trunk of his car.

 

Dean puts on the shirt and hat and climbs behind the wheel of the cop car. In the police car, no one is going to suspect that it’s him, and he makes it to the exfil point with about ten minutes to spare.

 

Clint gives him a look. “The hell?”

 

“I think Hydra has some of the local cops on the payroll,” Dean explains. “This was my solution.”

 

Steve glances over his shoulder. “You okay?”

 

“Well, my ears will probably be ringing for a while, but otherwise, I’m fine.” He sighs. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Dean tips his head off, and when no one says anything, he drops off to sleep.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean has an opportunity to catch up on his sleep both on the flight back, and the night they get into New York. Steve declares that they’ll brief the entire team the following day, once they’re rested and ready to go.

 

Dean is more than fine with that, because it’s been a busy few weeks, and all he wants is a little downtime before their next mission, although Sokovia is going to take serious planning. Near as Dean can tell, they’re going to need at least a few teams of SHIELD agents in addition to the Avengers for a successful assault.

 

He sacks out, but wakes up early enough to do a couple of loads of laundry and run to the corner store for things like bread, milk, and cheese. He’ll have to go to the farmer’s market for some fresh stuff, but he figures he can probably talk Bruce into going with him on Saturday.

 

By the time he arrives at the Tower, it’s just after nine, and Dean heads straight for the war room. There’s a pot of coffee waiting for him, and he pours a cup and takes a seat. Steve and Clint are already there, and Bruce and Tony wander in together a few minutes after that, and then Natasha saunters in.

 

She’s been on a mission, so Dean is a little surprised to see her, and she gives him a long look. “I’m glad to see you’re in one piece.”

 

Dean smirks. “Do you have plans?”

 

“I might,” Natasha allows. “Depending on how things go today.”

 

“All right, let’s get started,” Steve says. “Dean, you go first.”

 

Dean nods and starts to give a rundown of what he’d seen, the impressions he had, the strength of the opposing force, what they’ll need to consider in a tactical plan. Clint goes next, adding his own impressions, and then they pull up the pictures he and Clint took.

 

Between Dean, Clint, and Steve, Dean figures they probably have about 50 years of tactical training between them. There are also satellite surveillance photos, and the information they got from SHIELD.

 

“We’re going to need Thor,” Steve finally says. “When is he back?”

 

“Sometime next week,” Natasha replies, “At least according to Jane Foster.”

 

“Hill might need that much time to get enough SHIELD teams together,” Dean points out, texting her as he speaks. “Let me check. I know I won’t feel comfortable without at least three teams, and preferably four, for backup.”

 

Hill responds within a few seconds. “Yeah,” Dean adds. “At least a week until all the personnel are in place, and we’re going to need clearance from Sokovia’s government.”

 

There are grimaces all around, but only Tony says what they’re really thinking. “Why? We know that some of them are probably in bed with Hydra.”

 

“Sure,” Dean agrees. “But if we don’t have at least tacit permission, they might decide to shoot us out of the sky. With multiple SHIELD teams plus equipment, that’s going to take some coordination.”

 

“I know someone,” Natasha says. “I’ll contact them and ease the way.”

 

Steve nods. “Agreed. Let’s do this by the book. We’ll deal with any complications if necessary, but let’s at least try to play by the rules.”

 

“I’ll let you know what I find out,” Natasha promises.

 

“Good, let’s talk about fire power,” Steve says. “Dean, any ideas?”

 

Dean glances up. “Me?”

 

“You were there, and you have relevant experience,” Steve replies. “I’d like you to liaise with Hill and the other SHIELD agents, too.”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” He looks over the pictures and begins to point out defenses. “Okay, they’ve got a shield generator that’s going to be tough to take out, but should be a priority for us. It’s probably going to take an air assault.”

 

“It’s a fortress, and they’ve got plenty of goons who have all-terrain vehicles,” Clint adds. “We’re going to need to tie them up.”

 

“Four teams of SHIELD agents should do it,” Dean replies. “We can equip them with the appropriate vehicles and with heavy assault weaponry. We’ll need some .50 calibers, and a rocket launcher or two would be good.”

 

Dean is making a list as he speaks, preparing it to send to Hill. “Hill will know if we can get it. Anything she can’t get, we’ll have to plan around.”

 

From there, they begin to discuss their options. Dean has been in tactical meetings in the past, and he’s used to what could be described as tedium. They have to consider all of the moving parts and plan for all the contingencies. They have to determine both infiltration and exfiltration strategies.

 

Bruce wanders in and out when it becomes clear that he doesn’t need to be there for the duration of the meeting. They’ll probably need the Hulk at some point, but that’s going to involve Bruce transforming and them pointing him at the problem.

 

Tony starts doing other work, throwing his two cents in every so often just to prove he’s capable of multi-tasking.

 

Dean isn’t surprised when they have to break for dinner, or when the planning extends over multiple days. Hill has to round up SHIELD agents and equipment, as well as transport. It’s a massive assault requiring a ton of support, and those actions take time to plan.

 

Not even Natasha’s contacts can get them clearance within the week, and delays mean changed plans due to unavailable agents or equipment, or additional available men. The fact that SHIELD is without a lot of friends or resources right now makes it even more difficult.

 

Dean takes most of the coordination upon himself, although he and Steve spend long hours together, ironing out the details. The others drift in and out, and Bruce seems to be the one who’s taken on the role of feeding them because he turns up with lunch, and tends to chase them out in time for dinner—even if it’s late.

 

And needless to say, Dean doesn’t see much of Natasha, because she goes to Sokovia to work her contacts, and he’s working tactics.

 

They’re into week two, although they’re seeing some movement, and are tentatively planning on a go-time in four days, when everything changes.

 

Dean is distracted with his planning, and Tony and Bruce are there arguing about some science-y thing. Clint is on the phone with a SHIELD supplier he knows, scaring up additional weaponry for the assault, since Hill is a little short.

 

Natasha isn’t back from Sokovia yet, and Thor is visiting his girlfriend now that he’s back on earth, since they don’t really need him for this part.

 

The room they’re using as a war room is secure to the extent that the Tower is secure, but Stark Industries employs a lot of people, some of them very low level, like those who work in the mailroom.

 

The kid who enters the conference room is in his early 20’s, clean cut, carrying a package. At first, Dean dismisses him as just another mail room clerk, especially when he puts the package down on a side table, but then he pauses just outside the door and reaches into his pocket.

 

Dean spent his twenties in the dusty, arid hills of Afghanistan, dealing with insurgents, and there’s a part of him that recognizes the furtive movements, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up.

 

The next few seconds seem to move in slow motion. The kid tosses something that Dean recognizes as a splinter bomb on the floor and says, “Hail, Hydra!”

 

Clint is too far away, Bruce and Tony are frozen for just a split second too long, and Steve has the table between him and the bomb. Dean is the closest, and he does the mental math.

 

From Coulson’s report, the splinter bombs are built on the same technology that the Obelisk was, and maybe use the same chemical component—whatever that is. After the city in San Juan, Dean is nearly certain that he could handle the Obelisk without getting killed.

 

All of those things go through his head at once. He’s used to making split second decisions in the field, and right now, Dean realizes that he has one option.

 

Best-case scenario—maybe he changes, and whatever he changes into isn’t monstrous. Worst-case scenario—he’s dead, but the rest of the Avengers live.

 

Dean throws himself on the bomb.

 

He hears a lot of shouting, and he figures if he survives this, he’s going to get a very stern lecture from the rest of the team at a later date.

 

The bomb doesn’t explode so much as throw off whatever turns people into stone or disintegrates them, and Dean—well, it’s a strange feeling, and Dean is pretty sure that he’ll never have words for how it feels. He’s turning into stone, freezing up, and he’s losing feeling in his extremities.

 

Eventually, he loses feeling altogether, and then he knows nothing.

 

Dean has no idea how much time passes, but he gasps, and he hears an explosion, and a snarl, and Tony says, “Shit, shit, shit, I suck at this. Steve! Help me out here!”

 

Someone drags him out into the hallway, and things are fractured and strange, and Steve says, “Winchester! Stay with me!”

 

Dean blinks grit out of his eyes and finds Steve’s face inches from his own. “Wha—what happened?”

 

“You threw yourself on a bomb, that’s what fucking happened,” Steve says, although his tone is more rueful and less angry than Dean expects. Some of that must show on his face, because Steve adds, “I’ve done the same thing, so I can’t throw stones. What were you thinking?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “I figured I was the one most likely to survive and least likely to be missed.”

 

“Idiot,” Steve mutters. “Natasha is probably going to kill you.”

 

“Oh, God,” Dean says. “I didn’t even think about that.”

 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, changing the subject.

 

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. What exploded?”

 

“The monitor,” Tony says, emerging from the conference room. “Bruce is still getting himself under control, but I think we may have avoided a Code Green.”

 

Dean winces. “Is he pissed at me?”

 

“Well, not right _now_ ,” Tony says. “Right now he’s focused on not reducing the Tower to a pile of rubble. I can’t say how he’ll feel about an hour from now.”

 

“I’m pissed,” Clint announces, crouching down next to Dean. “What the fuck was that?”

 

Dean scrubs his hands over his face. “I took the chance that it wouldn’t kill me. After my last mission with Coulson, I figured I would survive, and none of you had the same odds.”

 

“Was the explosion you?” Steve asks gently.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean mutters. “Everything feels weird at the moment.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Okay, Clint, Steve, get him to medical. I’m going to stay with Bruce until we’re both sure he’s stable, and then we’ll join you. Whatever you do, don’t piss Dean off.”

 

“Why not?” Clint asks. “No one worries about my feelings.”

 

“Because Bruce told me a few things, and I think it would be best for everyone that Dean stays calm until we know exactly what happened,” Tony snaps. “Excuse me.”

 

“I can’t believe I fucked things up this badly,” Dean groans.

 

Steve hauls him to his feet. “Tony’s just worried,” he says sagely. “Plus, you probably saved our lives and you aren’t dead. Things could be a lot worse.”

 

And Dean decides there are times when Captain America’s optimism could be really grating.

 

~~~~~

 

There’s really not much they can do for Dean in medical. They take his blood pressure and shine a light in his eyes, and check him over, but his vitals are normal, and there isn’t a scratch on him. They take some blood, profess themselves puzzled, and leave Dean in the infirmary cot with a pulse monitor and strict instructions to stay there for a few hours.

 

Steve leaves once he’s sure that Dean is fine, with a parting pat on the shoulder and the advice to “take it easy. You don’t know how this has affected you yet.”

 

Clint sticks around, though, and Dean waits to hear the riot act.

 

Instead, Clint shakes his head. “I always knew you were a team player, but that was above and beyond.”

 

Dean fiddles with the edge of the sheet he’s laying on. “Are you really pissed off at me?”

 

Clint leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Aw, Dean. Tell me you don’t have a death wish.”

 

Dean winces. “Did Natasha tell you how we met?”

 

Clint smirks. “Her and Coulson both, although Phil was a lot more complimentary. Natasha thought you were stupidly self-sacrificing.”

 

“Yeah, well, I had just watched my entire team get slaughtered,” Dean counters. “I wasn’t all that interested in living.”

 

“And now?”

 

“I have Natasha, I have the team, and I have my brother back,” Dean replies. “I have every reason to stay alive.”

 

Clint nods. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

 

“It’s comforting.” Bruce appears, looking a little the worse for wear, his clothing slightly tattered and ripped at places, but his expression is calm.

 

Clint, the traitor, offers a hand to clasp, then decamps.

 

“Where’s Tony?” Dean asks.

 

“He’s pissed someone got through his defenses, so he’s taking his frustrations out on finding out how we missed the fact that someone in the mailroom was Hydra,” Bruce says.

 

Dean winces. “I’m sorry I triggered you.”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes and takes a seat in the chair Clint vacated. “Watching someone I call a friend throw himself on a bomb is always going to be upsetting.”

 

Dean remembers one of the few times he’d pissed Sonny off, and he has that same sinking feeling now. “Bruce—”

 

“Hearing that you don’t have a death wish helps,” Bruce says, cutting him off. “But that could have been me, Dean.”

 

Dean hesitates. “Okay, yeah, but you and Tony weren’t moving that fast, and you know why I thought I might survive. I know you’re basically indestructible, but this is alien. And there was the rest of Manhattan to think about.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “How are you feeling?”

 

Dean suddenly realizes why Bruce had come straight to medical. “I—I don’t know. I feel okay, but also kind of weird.”

 

“I want you to stay in the Penthouse tonight,” Bruce says. “It’s reinforced for me, and frankly, if something goes wrong, Tony can afford to repair it.”

 

Dean can’t find a way to argue with that. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Dean, I’m not mad, I’m worried,” Bruce says. “I know what it’s like to change, and how disorienting it can be.”

 

Dean gives him a look. “You might regret having me there if I blow something up.”

 

“You know that was you?” Bruce asks.

 

Dean shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t the splinter bomb.”

 

Bruce laughs. “Yeah, well, you’re allowed to have an emotional outburst after throwing yourself on a bomb. But Dean, you’re not the least likely to be missed.”

 

Dean blinks. “I didn’t—you heard that?”

 

“Steve told me,” Bruce says gently.

 

“It’s not—” Dean stops, trying to find the right words. “It’s not like I think you guys wouldn’t miss me, but the Avengers are more than just a bunch of people who have special powers. The Avengers are a symbol. If Hydra managed to kill Captain America or Iron Man, or any of the rest of you, it wouldn’t be just about you, it would be a death of hope.”

 

“If you hadn’t been relatively certain you’d survive, I’d be pissed right now,” Bruce admits, “but I can’t say I didn’t know that about you, and I can’t say you made the wrong choice.”

 

“But?” Dean prompts.

 

“But nothing,” Bruce replies. “Sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t the comfortable thing, for you or anybody around you.”

 

“I’m not sure what I’m going to tell Sam,” Dean admits.

 

“For right now, you don’t have to tell him anything,” Bruce replies. “We can figure out how this is going to affect you together. You’re not alone in this, Dean.”

 

Dean nods. “No, I know.”

 

“Come on, are you hungry?” Bruce asks.

 

“I could eat,” Dean replies.

 

“All right, let’s go. You can get cleaned up while I get food.” Bruce chivvies him to the elevator and up to the Penthouse. “Do you have any clean clothes?”

 

“Yeah, I think I left some clothes from the last time I stayed in the Tower,” Dean says.

 

Clint and Steve are there, watching as Tony scans through security footage. “I want that asshole’s name, and I want to know how he got past the background check.”

 

Hill’s face is on one screen, and Happy’s on another, clearly on videoconference. “I don’t know, Boss. Ever since the thing with SHIELD, we’ve made sure to get deep background on everybody.”

 

“How long has he worked here?” Tony demands.

 

Hill glances down. “Four years, which means the real question is whether he was Hydra all along, or if he’s a new recruit.”

 

“Find out,” Tony orders. “In the meantime, no one gets into the Tower with extreme vetting.”

 

“Got it, boss,” Happy replies.

 

Hill nods. “I’ll do a sweep. We’ll find this guy, and anybody else who might be Hydra.” She glances at Dean, who realizes that he’s now on camera. “How are you feeling, Agent Winchester?”

 

“Fine,” Dean replies cautiously. He knows how SHIELD responds to those with special abilities, and while he’s pretty sure the patch on his shoulder protects him, he’s not inclined to share with Hill.

 

Hill gives him a sharp look but doesn’t otherwise respond. “I’ll keep you apprised of our progress, Mr. Stark.”

 

“You do that,” Tony says.

 

“Clint, will you grab Dean some clean clothing?” Bruce asks. “I’m going to arrange for food.”

 

“I’ll sort out the food,” Tony replies. “You could stand to get cleaned up yourself, big guy.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tony.”

 

“No worries.” Tony gives Dean a look. “Pizza okay with you?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Sure. Sounds great.”

 

He’s really not that hungry, but it’s been hours since he last ate, and he knows he probably should. Dean uses the spare room and bathroom, and Clint has left clean clothes for him by the time Dean is out of the shower.

 

Dean pulls on his jeans and t-shirt on, and he feels a little strange. He stares at his reflection, and wonders why he doesn’t _look_ any different when he _feels_ so different. Will Sam see him as a monster? Will other SHIELD agents?

 

What is he now?

 

It feels like something is boiling inside him, dying to get out. He’s trying to tamp it down, but it’s screaming to get out. It was easier to hold it down in the medical ward, where he had a lot of distractions, but right now he doesn’t think he can.

 

He feels it building up, and he has no idea how to dispel the energy, he just knows it has to go somewhere. But he has no idea how to do it safely.

 

Dean tries to shove it down, tries to shunt it aside, and his stomach cramps, and he bends over.

 

He flings out a hand and knocks a bottle of soap to the floor, and Dean hears it explode, which seems to set off a chain reaction for all the toiletries.

 

Dean can’t pull it back, he can’t even figure out what _to_ pull back, and he curls up, putting his hands over his head.

 

“Dean, Dean!” Steve’s voice is sharp. “Get it under control!”

 

“I can’t,” he gasps.

 

“Move, Steve,” Bruce orders. “Help me with him.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” Steve asks.

 

“Just—” Bruce gets a shoulder under him, and for a smaller guy, he’s strong. Steve seems to get with the program, and between them, they get Dean back on his feet. “Dean, just take a breath, okay? We’ll get you sorted out. You can’t hurt either of us.”

 

“But I could trigger you,” Dean says, although he’s feeling a little more under control now that he’s bracketed by his teammates.

 

Bruce gives him a look. “Is having us here helping you?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean admits reluctantly.

 

“Then shut up.”

 

Steve snickers. “It’s going to take a little time to get this thing figured out, but we’ll get there.”

 

They deposit Dean on the couch in the main room, and Bruce orders, “Sit there, take deep breaths, and try not to panic.”

 

“I wasn’t panicking before!” Dean protests.

 

Clint hands him a beer. “I’d do what he says.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on arguing,” Dean mutters, and drinks his beer. He’s feeling a little steadier, but he still isn’t sure what had happened.

 

Although, Bruce hadn’t been wrong. Dean is panicking a little. Maybe a lot. Possibly a lot.

 

Bruce sits down across from him. “The first thing we’re going to need to figure out is exactly what you’re capable of, and what’s going on when you make things explode with your brain. We have a safe room downstairs, and we’re going to take some readings. Tony and I just need you to hold it together long enough to eat.”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

“Good.” Bruce pats him on the shoulder.

 

Dean tries very hard not to think about what had just happened, and in trying not to think about it, finds himself thinking about exactly that—about feeling as though he’s turning to stone, about the feeling that’s bubbling up in his chest.

 

“Hey, so, this is a little awkward but it has to be asked,” Tony says. “What are you driving these days?”

 

Dean blinks, the feeling in his chest tamped down for the moment. “Uh, who drives in New York?”

 

“You do, as of now,” Tony replies. “Because frankly, the arguments for Bruce not taking the subway definitely apply to you. Knowing what I know, I’m guessing you prefer American muscle cars.”

 

Dean hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah. My dad drove a 1967 Impala. I practically grew up in that car.”

 

“You miss it?” Tony asks.

 

Dean is surprised at the question, but he probably shouldn’t be. He doesn’t think Tony has ever asked him anything about his past. “Did you do a background check on me?”

 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

 

Dean barks out a laugh. “Yeah, sorry, stupid question.”

 

“So?”

 

“Yeah, sometimes,” Dean admits. “It wasn’t always the best life, but it had its moments.”

 

Tony nods. “So, you’re going to need a vehicle.”

 

“Tony, you don’t have to,” Dean protests.

 

“Yeah, but if it’s registered to SI, then we can write it off as a business expense, including the insurance and parking,” Tony points out. “Plus, if you blow it up, we can cover it.”

 

Dean swallows. “I don’t—”

 

“Say thank you,” Tony says wryly.

 

“Thanks,” Dean says. “Thank you.”

 

He doesn’t mean just for the offer of a vehicle, but also because Tony interrupted his racing thoughts and got him calmed down.

 

“Tell me about the Impala,” Tony says, honing in on the most important part.

 

Dean starts talking, delving into memories he hasn’t revisited in years—sleeping in the backseat, fighting with his brother, making up with his brother, listening to classic rock.

 

Tony keeps drawing him out, asking him questions about Sam, about life on the road, staying on lighter topics in a deft display that indicates just how good he is at dealing with people when he wants to be.

 

Dean probably hasn’t talked this much since Scooter, but he’s almost surprised when the pizza shows up. It’s a relief, and he’s got a second beer in wet his whistle, and he’s starving as soon as he smells the pizza.

 

He holds back for the first couple of slices, and then Bruce laughs. “Dean, we bought an extra pizza just for you. Eat as much as you want.”

 

“Oh, god, thank you,” Dean says. He doesn’t want to be the asshole who pigs out, but no one seems to mind.

 

When he makes his way through a half a pizza, he’s feeling full and a lot calmer than before.

 

“There’s a reason Bruce won’t eat my shakes,” Tony says. “They don’t fill him up.”

 

“They’re also slimy,” Bruce inserts. “I don’t see why you persist in thinking that it’s about anything other than the texture.”

 

“Because they’re delicious, and I don’t see what your problem is,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “You haven’t actually convinced anyone else to try them, you’ll notice.”

 

“I haven’t tried, love of my life,” Tony counters.

 

“Oh, my god,” Bruce mutters, and that makes Dean laugh out loud.

 

He’s in a much better frame of mind when they all head downstairs, with Clint and Steve insisting on joining them. Dean can understand why Steve might insist on being present, but he’s not so sure about Clint.

 

The safe room is interesting. Dean’s never seen it before, but the reinforced walls look like they could withstand the Hulk. Dean figures that means he won’t be able to blow the building up.

 

He’s not really sure what’s going to happen next, but he enters the room and wanders around, staring at the bare walls and the table and chairs that seem to be made out of the same dark grey material as the walls. There’s not much else to the room, but he supposes that’s for the best.

 

The door stays open, and he glances outside to see Bruce and Tony in a heated debate, and Dean winces. He doesn’t want to cause any discord between them. And then Steve rolls his eyes, throws his hands up in the air, and grabs a basket of items.

 

“So, you do the short straw, huh?” Dean asks.

 

Steve snorts. “Bruce wanted to be in here, but Tony was worried about triggering him. I claimed the job by my right as team captain.”

 

“Lucky you,” Dean says.

 

“Plus, I figure it’s probably not anger that gets you going,” Steve adds. “I’m sure Bruce has a lot to offer, but maybe we’re in the same boat.”

 

Dean frowns. “Okay.”

 

“Bruce and Tony are going to be monitoring us from outside so we can figure out what’s going on with you,” Steve says. “So, you’re going to blow some shit up with your brain, while I hang with you and they do their science thing.”

 

“Wouldn’t it be safer if I were alone?” Dean asks.

 

Steve hitches a shoulder. “Maybe, but having us around seemed to help last time.”

 

Dean swallows. “Yeah, it did.”

 

“Okay, so no question, I’m here.” Steve puts a bottle of water down on the table. “Blow it up, Dean.”

 

They move to one side of the room, and Dean takes a deep breath and stares at the bottle of water, then startles as Bruce’s voice says, “Safety first, guys.”

 

“Oh, right,” Steve says, and holds out a pair of safety glasses to Dean while donning his own pair.

 

Dean has to admit that safety goggles are the right call when there are explosions going on, and he puts his on. He stares at the water bottle, but nothing happens.

 

“Okay, what were you thinking about when you were in the bathroom?” Steve asks.

 

Dean hesitates. “My brother, and what he’s going to think when he finds out I can blow shit up with my mind.”

 

“So, think about that,” Steve advises.

 

Dean stares at the water bottle, but the same feelings aren’t there. He has Cap sitting across from him as a steady presence, and he has his team waiting in the wings. It’s harder to worry about Sam’s response right now.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Dean says.

 

Steve chuckles. “Okay, no big deal. It’s like a muscle. You just have to figure out how to work it.” He gives Dean a long look. “All right, let’s try something else. When Davison had you captive, and you were worried about Sam, and you couldn’t get out of the cage—picture the water bottle as the lock.”

 

Dean has a little trouble with that. Life is fantastic enough; he’s never felt the need to indulge in fantasies.

 

But he understands what Steve is saying, and he pulls up that feeling, because it’s still real to him. When he thinks about it, that cage wasn’t too long ago.

 

And when he thinks about it, when he thinks about Sam, he feels the burning in his belly, and he focuses that on the water bottle.

 

The explosion is somewhat expected, but Dean is rather surprised when neither of them get wet. The water seems to burn out, but the concussion is enough to knock them back a step.

 

“Dean, try that again,” Tony orders. “We need another measurement.”

 

Steve puts another water bottle down on the table and retreats.

 

Now that he knows what it feels like, it’s easier to call up the right emotion, the right feeling. He focuses on the water bottle and it explodes. This time, he doesn’t feel the concussion.

 

“Interesting,” Bruce murmurs over the intercom. “Steve, did you feel that?”

 

“No, not a bit,” Steve replies.

 

Dean glances at him. “You didn’t either?”

 

“It might be part of your gift,” Tony replies. “If you can shelter yourself and others from the concussion, it would make sense.”

 

Dean could see how that might be the case, but he has no idea what he’s doing or how he’s doing it. Then again, maybe that’s what Tony and Bruce are for.

 

He blows up another water bottle, and this time Bruce bustles in afterward to take samples. “If you could do that again, Dean, we’re still taking readings.”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, sure. I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

 

He blows up five more water bottles, and each time the concussion is limited. On the sixth try, Tony says, “I need you to put something near the water bottle, and I need you to try blowing it up from outside the room.”

 

Dean isn’t sure he can do that, but he has to try. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Tony and Bruce are in an observation room, but he and Steve stay out in the hallway. “All right, Dean,” Tony says, coaching him through it. “We need to know if that protection is conscious or unconscious, and whether you can figure out how to control it.”

 

Dean nods, understanding the point of the exercise. “Got it.”

 

“Whenever you’re ready, Dean,” Bruce says.

 

Dean takes a deep breath. “Right,” he mutters, focusing on the water bottle. At this point, it’s easier to focus on the internal muscle needed to both explode the bottle and not explode what’s sitting next to it.

 

He knows before he actually explodes the bottle that he isn’t going to avoid damaging the empty soda can next to it. And, in fact, the can gets shredded and turned into shrapnel, buried in the walls.

 

“Well, that was something,” Steve comments. “That skill could be a real asset in the field.”

 

“I didn’t mean to blow up the can,” Dean admits.

 

Steve shrugs. “Well, you didn’t blow yourself or me up either, so I think we’re good. Let’s try again.”

 

Dean can’t quite get the hang of not blowing something up that’s sitting next to whatever he’s trying to explode, unless it’s him or Steve, and then he seems to protect them instinctually.

 

When Bruce says, “That’s enough. Dean, if you’re not already exhausted, you’re going to be.”

 

As soon as Bruce says that, Dean droops. “Oh, fuck.”

 

Steve and Clint are there on either side of him immediately. “You need a drink,” Clint says. “Probably a beer. Maybe a snack.”

 

“I think there was pizza left,” Steve offers helpfully.

 

“I might be too tired to eat,” Dean admits.

 

Bruce joins them. “Tony’s getting things set up. Dean, trust me, you just expended a lot of energy. Get some calories, and then go to bed. We’re going to analyze the data, and we should have some more information for you tomorrow.”

 

Dean sees the look he gives Steve and Clint, which clearly means they’re supposed to watch out for him.

 

Suddenly, Dean feels a little choked up. His old team would have supported him like this, but he never thought to have this again. He never thought he’d have people who would watch his back like this, who would look after him as much as he looked after them.

 

Dean has a family again, and even though he has no idea how Sam is going to respond to this latest turn of events, he’s a little more sanguine about it.

 

Even if Sam freaks out on him, Dean has the Avengers and a home, and that means a lot.

 

By the time they get back to the Penthouse, Dean’s ready to drop. He’d probably go straight to bed, but Steve takes his duties very seriously, and he knows where Bruce keeps the protein bars. Steve shoves one in Dean’s hand and watches him eat half of it before he’ll let Dean go to bed.

 

Dean barely manages to get his boots and jeans off before he face plants on the bed. He falls asleep immediately, and while he doesn’t know how long he’s asleep, he starts dreaming of the bomb. He’s stuck in that moment over and over, turning to stone, suffocating—dying.

 

The second time he wakes up from that dream, he can feel the power coiling under his skin, and he’s a little worried that if he tries going back to sleep, something will explode. So, he rolls out of bed and takes a hot shower to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

 

It’s not quite dawn, and he’s still exhausted, but he doesn’t want to face the same nightmare again.

 

Dean wanders out to the kitchen and finds Tony already there, pouring coffee from a pot that’s already half-full. He’s wearing different clothes from the night before, and Dean wonders if anyone other than the Avengers has seen Tony in baggy cargo pants and an oversized t-shirt.

 

He also suspects that the ultra-comfortable clothing indicates a rough night, if not a sleepless one. “I hope you didn’t lose sleep on my account,” Dean says.

 

Tony gives him a sardonic look. “You’re not the only one with nightmares, Dean.”

 

“What makes you think that?” Dean asks, unable to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

 

“Because I know that expression, my friend,” Tony replies. “And all too well. Besides, after our analysis, I have some idea how much energy you expended. I was expecting you to sleep until noon.”

 

Dean hesitates, then says, “Yeah, well, getting turned into stone wasn’t fun, and I would definitely not recommend.”

 

Tony barks a laugh and pours Dean a cup of coffee. “Riding a nuke into space was not fun, and I would definitely not recommend.”

 

Dean grins. “Yeah, well, I figure all of us have our own demons to wrestle.”

 

“We do,” Tony agrees, handing over the mug. “You want to know what Bruce and I figured out?”

 

“I do,” Dean replies.

 

“Come on,” Tony says. “Bruce isn’t awake yet, but I don’t think he’ll mind if I get things started since we’re both up.”

 

They head for Tony’s workshop, and Dean’s a little weirded out to see his face on the screen. “Oh, uh, okay.”

 

“Video replay is important,” Tony replies. “We also did an analysis of the chemical signatures of all the water bottles, as well as the can, at least what was left. Which wasn’t much. That part was interesting.”

 

And then Tony launches into an explanation about the chemical makeup of the remnants of the water bottles, and Dean suddenly understands why they’d used those targets. “Water is easy to analyze, because we know what’s in it. If we use the same batch of filtered water, we have a baseline.”

 

Dean is grateful for the chemistry class he took for his engineering degree, and the training he had both in spec ops and then in SHIELD. His specialty had been demolition, and he thinks that’s a bit too on the nose, but it’s not like he chose his gift.

 

“It’s not unlike the Extremis formula,” Tony says. “What explodes remains organic, which means there’s very little trace—which is a good thing. If we keep your gift quiet, you could probably blow all kinds of shit up without anybody being the wiser. That said, there’s a good chance it won’t stay quiet, but I think we should try.”

 

“Yeah, I agree,” Dean replies. “I’ve got no problem there.”

 

Tony nods. “Good. Now, the real question is how you protected yourself and Steve, and the best we can figure, it’s instinctive. Bruce thinks it has to do with your personality, the way his anger is tied to the Hulk. Bruce gets angry, and he transforms, or if he’s scared, he transforms. You want to protect, so you do.”

 

Dean frowns. “Why would I have that kind of control when Bruce doesn’t?”

 

“Because it’s inherent to your nature,” Tony says. “Whether you knew it or not, you’ve always had this potential inside you, and it just got unlocked.”

 

Dean takes a breath. “It’s instinctual, then.”

 

“But what’s instinct right now can be trained into conscious control,” Tony says. “The good news is that you’re probably not going to blow any of us up.”

 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, well, that’s a relief.”

 

“You have an interesting gift, Dean,” Tony says. “Scientifically fascinating, in fact, and incredibly useful, so congrats on not being a human thermometer, or being able to run in place indefinitely.”

 

Dean snickers. “Those are the most ridiculous talents you could come up with?”

 

“That was just off the top of my head,” Tony replies.

 

Dean’s stomach growls. “So, with that embarrassing segue, you mind if I cook breakfast?”

 

Tony laughs. “If you cook breakfast, you can stay forever.”

 

“I’m not a stray, Tony,” Dean replies.

 

Tony shrugs. “You kind of are, but you’re ours, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

It’s a casual possessiveness, one that assumes Dean’s place with the team, and so he doesn’t mind.

 

“Breakfast burritos okay?” Dean asks. “Assuming we have everything we need.”

 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Tony replies. “If you want to make breakfast burritos, I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

 

Bruce keeps a fairly well stocked fridge, and Dean finds sausage, eggs, potatoes, and cheese. There’s a jar of salsa in the pantry and a package of tortillas, and Dean is good to go.

 

He has his sausage done and the potatoes cooking when Bruce emerges, looking rumpled and sleepy. He places a casual kiss on Tony’s lips and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Have you guys been up long?”

 

“A little while,” Tony admits. “I filled Dean in on the results of our tests.”

 

Bruce gives Dean a look. “New nightmares, or old ones?”

 

“Oh, it looks like I have at least one new one to add to my collection,” Dean says wryly. “I’m making breakfast burritos. Whatever we don’t eat, we can freeze. I used to—” He stops, realizing that he hasn’t made this recipe since his spec ops days. “I used to make them for my team. My old team.”

 

Bruce pats him on the shoulder. “We’re honored, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean manages. “We’ll see what you think of them.”

 

Tony’s on his phone, and Dean isn’t sure what he’s doing until Clint and Steve turn up just as the burritos are coming out of the oven, smothered in salsa and cheese.

 

“What are those?” Steve asks.

 

Clint actually cackles. “Breakfast burritos, Cap. _Breakfast burritos_. You haven’t lived until you’ve had one. Well, more than one, because I could eat myself sick.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Dean says. “Or at least don’t do that and expect any sympathy.”

 

He hasn’t had a chance to truly stock his own kitchen, so it’s a real pleasure to use Bruce’s stores to his advantage.

 

His efforts don’t go to waste, because Steve eats two of his burritos, and Clint, Tony, and Bruce each eat one and split a third between them.

 

There’s total silence while they eat, which Dean takes as the compliment it is.

 

“You can make these any time,” Clint says.

 

“Or all the time. All the time would be good,” Steve adds. “I didn’t know these existed.”

 

Dean grins. “We can probably make arrangements.”

 

“Now that we’re done with breakfast, we have more testing,” Bruce says. “Sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean shakes his head. “No, that’s fair. We’ve got the assault on Strucker’s base coming up, and if I can get this figured out, I can help. Otherwise, I’m going to be stuck on overwatch.”

 

“You’d be doing us a favor in overwatch, but I think we could use the firepower,” Steve says. “So, do what you can, but if you’re not ready to be out in the field, your skills won’t be wasted.”

 

Dean went through basic, Ranger school, and SHIELD training, but he doesn’t think he’s ever worked as hard as he does over the next two days. He wants to be with his team, and if he can’t control what goes boom, he’s going to be stuck behind the front lines.

 

Steve and Clint keep him company and offer suggestions, Tony and Bruce review the readings and analyzes the data, with Bruce dictating regular breaks for food and rest.

 

It’s like using a muscle he’s never used before, like learning how to build a bomb, only Dean is the detonator. Dean had to learn how to shape a charge, which kind of explosive to use, even how to create a detonator from scratch if necessary.

 

Dean remembers how he’d felt like he was all thumbs at first, how he’d fumbled at times. The difference now is it’s internal, all in his head, intangible. No one can tell Dean how to use his gift the way his instructors could tell him how to build a bomb.

 

It’s trial and error, and Dean feels it’s mostly error.

 

“You’re doing really well,” Bruce says on the second day, when they’ve taken a break to eat dinner.

 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, right. I’m still having trouble shielding what I want from the blast unless it’s me or one of you.”

 

“That means you’re unlikely to lose control and hurt someone you care about,” Bruce points out. “That’s not a bad thing, Dean.”

 

“No, I know it’s not, but I can’t quite get the hang of the ins and outs of it,” Dean replies. “You ask me to make a bomb with a shaped charge, or defuse a bomb, and I’m your guy. That was my thing, demolitions. Ironic, huh?”

 

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Bruce replies.

 

“You’ve got enough control to join us in the field,” Steve says. “I want you out there with us.”

 

Dean frowns. “Are you sure?”

 

Steve nods. “Your control might not be perfect, but it’s good enough, and I trust that you’ll take yourself out of the field if you’re struggling or if you’re worried about hurting people who shouldn’t be hurt.”

 

“So, you’re good with me blowing up Hydra agents, is what you’re saying,” Dean says.

 

“It wouldn’t hurt my feelings,” Steve replies.

 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, me neither. I guess I’ll keep working on it.”

 

“Not tonight,” Bruce insists. “You need to rest. We have a couple more days before we leave for Sokovia, and I think Natasha is coming back tonight, right?”

 

Dean checks his watch. “Yeah, in another hour or two, I think.”

 

“So, take a break,” Bruce advises. “Have a beer, relax. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

 

Dean takes him up on that, retreating to the roof, and is grateful when the others leave him in peace. He likes his team—loves them, even, the way he’d loved Scooter and the others—but he hasn’t been alone since the bombing.

 

He takes another drink of his beer and tips his head back, enjoying the cool night air. Living in New York, he misses the stars. He remembers sitting on the hood of the Impala with Sammy, seeing the wide swathe of the Milky Way galaxy in Kandahar, the Southern Cross on an assignment in Malawi. His training with the Rangers, and later with SHIELD, taught him how to navigate by the stars when necessary.

 

Turns out, Dean has a closer relationship to them than he thought.

 

“I brought you another one.”

 

Dean drains the last of the bottle and sets it on the roof next to him. “Hey.”

 

“Hello,” Natasha replies, handing him another bottle. “I hear you’ve had an eventful few days.”

 

Dean laughs without much humor. He’s exhausted, but he wanted to be awake for Natasha’s return. “Yeah, you could say that.”

 

Natasha sits down next to him. “Bruce said you’re doing well.”

 

“That might be a little too optimistic,” Dean replies. “Okay, yes. Well? Probably not.”

 

“You’re being maudlin,” Natasha replies.

 

Dean sighs. “I’ve had a chance to think, which was probably a mistake.”

 

Natasha straddles his lap in one smooth move. “I think I can guess. Your brother is never far from your thoughts, especially now.”

 

“We hunted monsters for a living, my family did,” Dean says.

 

Natasha presses her mouth to his in a deep kiss, bringing her tongue into play, and Dean gets hard as she rocks against him. “Life isn’t quite so black and white as monsters and men,” she murmurs when she breaks off the kiss. “We all have a little monster in us.”

 

Dean doesn’t protest that she isn’t monstrous, because in their line of work, they all have a little darkness. They all have blood on their hands, even if they spilled that blood in service to a greater good.

 

“It could be handy in the field,” Natasha murmurs. “You won’t have to worry about not having a detonator on hand.”

 

“True,” Dean agrees. “Assuming I can avoid blowing up something vital.”

 

“I have no doubt you’ll learn control,” Natasha replies. “And I can provide an excellent incentive.”

 

Dean smiles. “What’s that?”

 

“I believe in rewarding a job well done.” Natasha runs her tongue over the pulse point on his neck, and then bites down gently. “And if you blow up the right things, I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

“Is that right?” Dean asks.

 

Natasha shifts on his lap deliberately, and Dean can’t help but buck a bit under her. It’s been weeks, and he’s horny, and he just wants to forget for a little while. He wants to forget about his new gift, and thinking he was going to die, and the certainty he felt when he chose to sacrifice himself for the team.

 

Dean has a lot of regrets, and that’s not one of them, but he doesn’t want to think about it either.

 

Then Natasha rises and holds out a hand for him. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private.”

 

And just like the first time they met, Dean follows her.


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes when Natasha shakes the mattress next to him, too canny to touch him while he’s in the middle of a nightmare. Dean gasps and sits up, finding that new muscle inside trembling, ready to strike out.

 

That’s what caused the monitor to explode right after he’d transformed.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

Dean lets out a shaky breath and nods. “Yeah, fine. Did, uh, did the others tell you what happened?”

 

“Clint did,” Natasha replies. “I know why you did it, but if you’d died, I never would have forgiven you.”

 

Dean looks over at her in the dim light from outside, because New York City is never dark, and sees her clear eyes and resolute expression. He believes that she means it. “I’m not going to apologize.”

 

“I knew what I was getting into,” Natasha replies. “You were trying to get us to leave you behind so we could make the extraction.”

 

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I’m not sorry about that either.”

 

“And I’m not sorry we didn’t listen to you,” Natasha replies. “Come here.”

 

Dean doesn’t mind being ordered around by Natasha, and she spoons up behind him, an arm around his waist, her chin hooked over his shoulder. Feeling her pressed up against his back is more comforting than he would like to admit.

 

He falls asleep like that and sleeps better than he has in a long time, late into the following morning, when Natasha’s space next to him has grown cold.

 

Dean rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Once they’re back from Sokovia, he’ll have to go back to his own place, although he doesn’t mind being this close to the rest of the team.

 

In fact, he minds less than he thought he would.

 

Dean gets cleaned up and throws on whatever clean—or mostly clean—clothing comes to hand. This morning, Bruce is cooking, and it looks like some kind of scramble. Steve, Clint, and Natasha are there, but he doesn’t see Tony.

 

As though reading Dean’s mind, Bruce says, “Tony’s in his lab, making some final modifications, and Thor should be here shortly.”

 

“We have the final permissions?” Dean asks. He knows Natasha had been handling some of it, and he should have been on top of that information, but the last couple of days had been busy.

 

“We do,” Natasha says. “They came through last night, and Hill has already started moving people into place—quietly.”

 

Dean can imagine. He’s been a part of large, clandestine operations enough to know that they would be moving equipment and people in ways that are less obvious. They’ll use shipping containers, and Quinjets on stealth mode, and a few other tricks to make sure Strucker doesn’t know exactly when they’re coming.

 

Given the bomb, it’s probably too much to hope for that he doesn’t know they’re onto him.

 

“We put out an announcement that an unknown number of Avengers were hurt in the bombing,” Steve says suddenly. “We’re hoping that will give us a little breathing room.”

 

Dean nods. “It might. Nat, what do you think?”

 

“We’re still going to be fighting an uphill battle,” she says. “But if you’re willing, there might be a way to even the playing field a little.”

 

Dean perks up at that. “I’m all ears.”

 

“There might be a way to sneak you in as a Hydra agent, plant you near the field generator, and let you blow it up,” Natasha replies. “I have enough blackmail material on someone at the compound that I believe it could be done.”

 

“You trust this guy?” Dean asks.

 

Natasha shakes her head. “No, not remotely, but I trust that he understands what I’ll do to him should he betray me.”

 

Dean thinks the risk is probably worth it. If he goes in and can blow the field generator, he could save them all some trouble. “I’ll do it.”

 

Steve frowns. “Let’s talk over all of our tactical options before we start adding something like that.”

 

Dean nods, conceding the point. The entire team needs to be at the table for the tactical planning, and while Natasha’s option is tempting, it’s not the only option, and they have to consider all factors.

 

“Let’s have breakfast first, and then we’ll talk,” Bruce says. “We’ll all think better with full stomachs.”

 

Since that’s basically Bruce’s answer to a lot of things, Dean isn’t too surprised. Bruce dishes up and starts on the next batch, which is done about the time Tony and Thor show up within minutes of each other.

 

“I find this meal most satisfying, my friend,” Thor says, his voice booming slightly, as usual. “What do you call it?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I call it a breakfast scramble. It should get us through the rest of the planning.”

 

“I’ll call for lunch,” Tony offers. “Or dinner, whichever, depending on when we decide to leave.”

 

“We can’t leave until tomorrow night,” Clint says, having finished his breakfast. “Hill needs that long to get the SHIELD teams into place.”

 

“All right, then we’ll use the time to get things ironed out,” Steve replies. “Including any contingency plans.”

 

The war room has a hologram set up with the base and fortifications, and Tony types rapidly on a keyboard. “All right,” he says. “I’ve got us all plugged in. With a few keystrokes, we can see how each action will play out. Obviously, my predictions are only so accurate, but this should give us a good start.”

 

All of their tactical plans have to be revised to take Dean’s new ability into account, and that means more time. For the most part, they agree on how to deploy the SHIELD units, and whatever minor disagreements are easily resolved.

 

Where they run into problems is when Natasha brings up her proposal. “I don’t like it,” Steve says. “It leaves you two without a backup if something goes wrong.”

 

“I agree,” Bruce says. “Your gift is powerful, Dean, but it doesn’t make you invulnerable.”

 

“With the field generator, we won’t be able to get to you if something goes wrong,” Steve adds.

 

Thor nods. “I would not leave a friend on the field of battle alone.”

 

Tony clears his throat. “On the other hand, if Winchester can blow the generator, the assault will take less time, and we’re less likely to take casualties.”

 

Natasha gives Tony a look. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Look, if we mitigate the risk, it might be worth it. I have the masks,” Tony says. “Dean takes the place of your friend, and we find a way to sneak someone else in as backup.”

 

“I could potentially take the place of another Hydra agent,” Natasha says. “I’ll check with my contact.”

 

“Natasha and I go in early, in disguise, and I blow the generator at the right time,” Dean suggests. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

 

“And if it’s not Natasha, it could be me,” Clint offers. “I mean, yeah, generally I’m in a sniper’s nest, but I’ve been known to infiltrate before. Failing that, we could ask Coulson for a loan. Agent Morse is one of the best.”

 

“If we left immediately, we’d know whether we could do it by the time of the assault,” Dean says. “We make two plans, one for if we can infiltrate, one for if we can’t.”

 

“We’ll need to know who to send with you,” Steve says. “Natasha, find out if it’s going to fly. If you think we can arrange for back up for Dean, then it’s a go. If there are too many factors, we’ll go with the other plan.”

 

Dean wants to protest, but he knows Steve is right. There’s no way the team will countenance sending him in alone, and Dean would feel the same way in their shoes. In a do or die situation, certainly, but not when there are options.

 

Because they’re under a time crunch, the rest of the plans get made quickly, and then he and Natasha are on a Quinjet to Sokovia. They have a loaner from Hill, and both of them are capable of flying it should something go wrong.

 

Dean has never had a mission when it’s just him and Natasha, and maybe it should be weird since they’re—well, whatever they are—but it’s not. Dean catches a nap for the first half of the trip, then takes over for Natasha when she wakes him.

 

She doesn’t go to sleep, though, but instead sits sideways in the pilot’s seat. “You don’t have anything to prove, not to me, and not to the rest of the team.”

 

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” Dean replies. “It’s not about proving anything, it’s about using what I have to help the rest of the team, and protect them.”

 

Natasha’s expression is solemn. “You know we’re much harder to kill.”

 

Dean’s hands tighten around the controls. “I do know.”

 

“Do you ever talk to the families?” Natasha asks.

 

Dean is a little surprised that they’re even talking about this, but maybe it makes sense. Dean’s near-sacrifice, his nightmares, his volunteering for this job—Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Steve asked Natasha to probe, given their relationship and their history.

 

“A little,” Dean admits. “We lost touch right after, and for a long time afterward, but when my face was all over the news getting shot for Bruce, a few of them contacted me. Scooter’s wife sent me a private message on Facebook, and Cam’s boyfriend said he knew I was going somewhere.”

 

Natasha looks amused. “Have you told Tony you’re active on social media?”

 

“No, because I’m not an idiot, and I have it locked down,” Dean replies. “The only people who know I’m on there are those I knew before—well. Before. No one at SHIELD knows about that profile, and those who do know I’m on there think I provide private security.”

 

He pauses. “I don’t think they were surprised I got out of the business, even if I hadn’t. Most guys don’t come back from what I did.”

 

“I just want to know that you’ve laid those ghosts to rest, and you aren’t letting them chase you,” Natasha says. “We all have a past, Dean. We all have good reasons for doing what we do.”

 

“I have five good reasons,” Dean replies. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done exactly what I did, even if I had no reason to think I’d survive, but it’s not like anybody on the team wouldn’t have done the same. I wouldn’t have suggested this mission if I didn’t think we’d be successful.”

 

Natasha nods. “All right. I believe you.”

 

She naps after that, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. He’s grateful for the constant drills over the last few days, because he has things under control, and he’s not likely to blow the Quinjet up at least.

 

He just has to keep it locked down until they get into Strucker’s fortress.

 

When they land, Natasha calls her contact and speaks quickly in Russian. Dean has picked up a few things over the years, and he gets the gist of the conversation.

 

“We have a meeting in thirty minutes,” Natasha says. “I think he can get us the second person, but we have to move fast.”

 

Dean nods. “Let’s go then.”

 

Natasha’s contact is a squirrelly guy in his mid-fifties with a bit of a paunch. Dean sizes him up, making a mental note of the things he’ll need for a disguise. He starts off speaking rapidly in Russian, but Natasha holds up a hand. “In English, if you please.”

 

“Of course,” he says, in heavily accented English. “I assumed your friend also speaks Russian.”

 

“I can get by,” Dean says. “Tell us what we need to know.”

 

They’re meeting in a little café in what’s clearly the swankier area of town, swarming with students and tourists. It’s a good meeting spot since they’re unlikely to be noticed. Already, Dean knows he’s going to need a cheap suit and some padding along with the mask.

 

“There is a woman, but she is a true believer,” he says. “There will be no convincing her to do as you ask.”

 

Natasha snorts. “We weren’t planning on asking.”

 

“I just ask that you give me time to get out of the country,” he pleads.

 

Natasha appears to consider the request. “Only if you help us with your colleague.”

 

The man dithers a bit. “I want my name kept out of it.”

 

“That can be arranged,” Natasha replies. “If you help us, we’ll help you.”

 

“I think I’ll need to know your name first for that,” Dean says.

 

He swallows audibly. “Bogdan Andreovich.”

 

“Well, Mr. Andreovich, we’ll keep you out of it, provided you do a few things for us,” Dean replies. “Starting with getting us access to this coworker of yours.”

 

“She’s one of the few who isn’t required to stay at the fortress,” Bogdan says. “Baron Von Strucker trusts her.”

 

“That’s a point in our favor,” Natasha replies. “We’ll put you on ice, and as soon as we have her under control, you’ll be free to go.”

 

She says it in such a way that Dean’s fairly sure Bogdan isn’t going to be going anywhere, but he doesn’t need to know that. They have a plan to execute.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean has heard stories about Black Widow. He’s seen her in action, of course, but that was different. Right now, he’s watching her in her espionage element.

 

Bogdan leads them to the apartment where their other target lives, one Faina Mikhailova. “I’ll take care of this,” Natasha says. “I would rather not blow up the apartment.”

 

“Why would you blow it up?” Bogdan asks.

 

Dean smirks at him. “I can blow things up with my mind.”

 

Bogdan pales. “You do associate with the most interesting people, Natasha.”

 

“Oh, I’m the least of your worries,” Dean advises him. “You should see Big Green.”

 

“The Hulk?” Bogdan pales further. “You know him?”

 

“He’s like family,” Dean replies blandly.

 

Bogdan curses fluently in Russian, and Dean knows enough of those words to know exactly what he’s saying.

 

Dean figures he’s due for some amusement, so he just lets the statement ride. When his satphone chimes, he checks the message and says, “All right, let’s head on up.”

 

Natasha shoots Bogdan with an icer as soon we they enter, and Dean proceeds to restrain and gag him. “He’s a really trusting sort, isn’t he?”

 

Natasha shrugs. “His loss. The woman is in the other room. She won’t be bothering us. If Bogdan wakes up and gets loose in time, he’ll disappear I’m sure.”

 

“So, we’re a go for infiltration?” Dean asks.

 

She nods. “We’re a go.”

 

“I’ll call Cap and let him know,” Dean replies, feeling a burst of anticipation. He’s anxious about how things will turn out, but he wants to prove himself, too. Plus, working with Natasha is intoxicating.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Dean?” she asks.

 

Dean thinks about everything he’s lost, thinks about all his past selves—the hunter, the Ranger, the human—and he nods. “Yeah, absolutely.”

 

Natasha smiles. “Good.”

 

~~~~~

 

The plan is relatively simple from there. Natasha wears clothing stolen from Mikhailova’s closet, while Dean steals Bogdan’s shirt and pants. He’s a little heavier than Dean, and a little shorter, but his pants are baggy at the bottom, so it’s not too noticeable. Dean focuses on getting some padding in place to mimic Bogdan’s paunch and secreting weapons on his person while Natasha programs the masks.

 

They don’t want to risk Strucker locking down the fortress before they get inside. Mikhailova is highly placed within Hydra so they’re not too worried about entering; from there, they’ll have to stay concealed until the time comes to blow the field generator.

 

“How do I look?” Natasha asks.

 

“Like a Hydra agent,” Dean replies. “These masks are incredible.”

 

Natasha hitches a shoulder. “They almost make our job too easy.”

 

“No such thing,” Dean says. “Shall we?”

 

Natasha drives Mikhailova’s car to the Hydra base and speaks sharply to the sentry in Russian, who waves her through with a quiet, “Have a nice evening, sir,” in the same language.

 

Once she parks, they head directly for Bogdan’s office, which is probably the safest place for them to sit tight.

 

“You stay here, I’m going to do some recon,” Natasha says in a whisper.

 

Dean frowns. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Natasha insists. “Stay here, and stay quiet.”

 

“Right,” Dean mutters as she leaves.

 

He pokes around the office with the lights off. The last thing he wants is for someone to try to talk to him. He doesn’t know Bogdan well enough to fake being him for long, and his grasp of the language is too shaky to hold much of a conversation.

 

There really isn’t much else he can do but wait, and once Dean realizes that there isn’t much of interest in the office, he settles in to wait for Natasha to return.

 

A couple of hours go by, and Dean is just starting to worry when she slips inside. “They know something is up,” she says.

 

Dean shrugs. “So what? I doubt they’ll expect me.”

 

“No, I doubt it,” Natasha agrees.

 

Dean holds up an arm, and she settles in next to him. They don’t speak, they just sit in silence as the hours pass slowly. When the sky begins to lighten outside, Natasha’s phone vibrates, and she nods.

 

She and Dean make their way out of Bogdan’s office and head for the field generator. Dean hears a couple of explosions, and he knows that’s their cue.

 

They leave the disguises in place as they stealthily make their way to the field generator, or at least close enough to be able to look at it. Dean is grateful for all the hours of practice he’s had, because he knows what to reach for, how to get the biggest bang for his buck.

 

He can see Iron Man firing on it, and Dean frowns, wanting to time things just right. If it blows up when Tony strikes the shield, he can provide them with a little cover. They can get their disguises off and start taking out Hydra agents.

 

The repulsor beam strikes the shield, and Dean blows it in a spectacular display of fireworks that he wishes he had a chance to really appreciate.

 

The explosion takes the entire fortress by surprise, and he can see some of the confusion. Dean and Natasha quickly strip off their masks, and Dean sheds the deadweight of his Bogdan disguise. Their uniforms make them targets for Hydra, but clearly identify them as Avengers for their allies.

 

They’re both carrying two Glocks, and Dean wishes he’d had a little more time to practice shooting and blowing shit up at the same time, but he trusts Natasha to watch his back.

 

Dean will never be able to describe how it feels to move back to back with Black Widow, to feel her movements as a part of him, to turn and shoot a Hydra agent over her shoulder as she rolls to shoot the one coming up behind Dean in his blind spot.

 

He spots a couple of knots of agents moving close together, and he blows up the stones under their feet.

 

He’s starting to feel like they might have it in the bag, and then he feels a presence over his shoulder. He turns, his hand outstretched, and he sees Sam standing there with an expression of disgust.

 

“You’re a monster,” Sam says. “Dad would be ashamed of you. You should have died on that mission. It would have been better than _this_.”

 

Dean doesn’t have perfect control yet. His control was good enough to get on this mission and that’s about it. He can’t help the emotional response to Sam’s words, even though there’s a part of his brain that knows it _can’t_ be Sam. Sam isn’t in Sokovia, and there’s no way he could be.

 

But emotionally, Sam is here, and Dean can’t help the hurt, and when he sees movement—someone attacking Sam—he can’t help but respond.

 

And then he shudders at the sudden electricity he feels, and when he comes to, Natasha is dragging him along.  


“What—”

 

“You went a little crazy,” Natasha says grimly, and she has one of Dean’s arms slung across her shoulders, with one arm around Dean’s waist. “What happened?”

 

“Sam was there,” Dean replies. “But wait, he couldn’t have been. I didn’t—did I hurt you?”

 

“I used my bite on you,” Natasha replies. “I think you blew up the two other enhanced people who were going after you.”

 

Dean frowns. “Enhanced people?”

  
“We’ll deal with them later,” Natasha replies. “If there’s anything left of them, we’ll figure out who they are after we’ve taken the fortress.”

 

Dean’s head is whirling, and his emotions are a mess, but he’s starting to sort his head out. “I’m okay,” he says, pulling away from Natasha. “I’m good. We’ve got a base to clean up.”

 

Natasha releases him slowly, making sure he can stand on his own, and Dean shakes off the remaining fog. He’ll have to figure out how he feels about all of it later.

 

Maybe never. Maybe he’ll never think about it.

 

The rest of the assault goes without a hitch for the most part. It passes in a blur, with Dean shooting or blowing up Hydra agents, and trying to keep his head on straight.

 

If there are enhanced people working for Hydra, it’s not like they’re _good guys_. And if one of them caused him to lose control, then they pretty much got what they asked for.

 

But he’s not thinking about it. He’s _not_.

 

“We’re good,” Cap calls. “Everybody check in.”

 

“Hawkeye here, I’m good,” Clint calls over coms.

 

“Iron Man here, and I’m talking Big Green down,” Tony says. “We’re unharmed.”

 

“I am well, my friends,” Thor calls, and he can’t be anybody else.

 

“Winchester,” Dean says. “I’m—” His vision swims. “Oh, uh…”

 

He feels a hand on the back of his head, and he grunts, trying to summon up the power to respond. “Relax, it’s me,” Natasha orders. “Put your head between your legs.”

 

Dean’s knees go weak. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he says, just as the world around him goes dark.

 

When he swims back to consciousness, he’s stretched out on a gurney in the back of the Quinjet with an IV in. “What—”

 

Dean tries to sit up to find Steve’s hand on his chest. “Lay down,” he orders. “Bruce thinks you have an electrolyte imbalance or something.”

 

His head is pounding. “I have no idea what that means.”

 

“Are you in pain?” Bruce asks, his weary face appearing.

 

“My head hurts,” Dean mutters. “Shit, what the fuck?”

 

“I won’t know until we do some scans, but we’re going to need to do the tests in-house,” Bruce replies. “So, for now, an IV and some pain relief.” He unloads a syringe into the IV port, and Dean floats away on a sea of morphine.

 

When he starts coming around, the Quinjet is approaching New York, and Bruce is on a videoconference with SHIELD medical. “He’s going to need a full work up, but I want him in the Tower. We have better security.”

 

Dean tries to sit up. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

 

“Relax,” Natasha orders. “You’re exhausted and dehydrated, although the saline helped. Plus, Cap thinks you’re in shock.”

 

Dean lies back down. “From what?”

 

“You blew a lot of shit up,” Natasha says bluntly.

 

Dean rubs his eyes. “What about those two kids?”

 

“They’re alive, but in critical condition,” Natasha replies. “SHIELD is still digging into the data to figure out who they are.”

 

Dean nods. “How many others dead?”

 

“On our side, none, although there were a couple of serious injuries,” Natasha replies. “None life- or career-ending, though, and that was in large part down to our infiltration and you destroying the field generator.”

 

“You did good, Winchester,” Barton adds, his feet propped up on the bench. “If there were still commendations, you’d get one.”

 

“What about a shiny new name?” Tony calls from the front of the plane. “I feel like he needs a code name.”

 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing on that front.”

 

“Detonator?” Tony suggests. “Blasting cap? Mr. Boom?”

 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” Dean groans.

 

“How about just Dean for now?” Bruce suggests. “While we let him rest up a little more.”

 

“And how about we not completely telegraph Dean’s abilities?” Natasha suggests, her tone a little caustic.

 

Dean laughs. “They used to call me Demo on my old team, at least sometimes. Short for demolition.”

 

“Fitting,” Natasha says, patting him on the shoulder. “If you don’t mind.”

 

Dean smiles nostalgically. “No, I like to think I’ve made them proud.”

 

“You’ve already done that, Dean,” Steve says. “I’m sorry for what happened to your team, but I’m glad you’re on ours.”

 

And Dean lets that sentiment carry him through being situated in a bed in the infirmary of the Tower. He’s not terribly happy about being there, but the doctors want to run tests, and even Dean has to admit that he’s not given to fainting unless he has a few holes in him.

 

They take blood, and the doctors run an MRI and a CT scan. They insist on keeping him overnight for observation, and although Dean chafes at the restriction, he can’t argue.

 

Not when Natasha gives him a singularly unimpressed look, and not when Steve looks faintly disappointed. Barton gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and Bruce says, “I’ll bring you something to keep you entertained.”

 

“Suck it up, Dean,” Tony advises. “What do you want to eat?”

 

Dean’s stomach chooses that moment to growl—loudly. “Oh, god. I’m starving. Bacon cheeseburger?”

 

“Your wish is my command,” Tony replies.

 

“You sure you’re up for that?” Bruce asks.

 

Dean gives him a look. “I was born ready.”

 

“Relax, Big Guy,” Tony says, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. “Let’s see what we can scare up, and then we’ve got tests to run. Dean—revels tomorrow night! You’re expected to be present.”

 

“Where did Thor go?” Dean asks.

 

“He’s securing the scepter,” Steve replies. “And I’m going to get going. Feel better, Dean.”

  
“Thanks, Cap,” Dean replies.

 

Barton gets up. “I’m going to head home. I’ll check on your place while I’m there, Winchester.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Dean replies. “I appreciate it.”

 

“See you tomorrow,” Barton says.

 

Natasha doesn’t budge from her seat next to the infirmary bed.

 

“Are you staying?” he asks.

 

“I thought I might,” Natasha replies. “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be.”

 

And that’s how Dean falls asleep.

 

~~~~~

 

By the next morning, after Dean has eaten one of the best bacon cheeseburgers of his life—with absolutely no ill effects, thank you very much—he’s feeling much better. Natasha had gone back to her place to get cleaned up, and Dean is looking forward to doing the same.

 

“You were exhausted, dehydrated, and your electrolytes were out of whack,” the SHIELD doctor says. “I suggest that if you’re using your gift extensively, you make sure to drink plenty of fluids and stock up on power bars.”

 

Dean grimaces. “That might be kind of hard to do, doc. At least when I’m out in the field.”

 

The doctor snorts. “You’re all the same. _Make time_ , Agent Winchester, unless you want to be back in the hospital again after your next mission.”

 

Dean is glad Natasha isn’t present for that reprimand, and he grabs his clothing and gets dressed. He really needs to get back to his place for clean clothes.

 

As he goes through his things, Dean realizes that he has no idea where his phone is. He goes through his pockets, and finds nothing.

 

“Looking for something?” Tony asks.

 

Dean frowns. “Yeah, my phone.”

 

“Come on, I’ll see if I can track it down,” Tony replies. “In the meantime, we have some information on the kids that attacked you.”

 

Dean grimaces. “Okay, I guess I want to hear it.”

 

Tony shrugs. “Well, you might not, but it’s probably a good idea to get our cards on the table.”

 

He follows Tony to his lab, where he quickly runs a search on the phone. “Sorry, I think you’re out of luck. Either it’s been destroyed, or it’s completely out of power. However, all of our phones are backed up by Jarvis for just this reason using a virtual SIM card that’s my own creation. I can have you back up and running again in a matter of minutes.”

 

“Great,” Dean replies. “Thanks. So, the kids?”

 

“Hang on, Bruce wanted to be here for this,” Tony says.

 

Dean has no idea if that’s a good or a bad thing, but he’s betting it isn’t good.

 

Tony starts getting the phone ready, and Dean’s rather amused that he’s so well stocked. “Do you keep a lot of phones on hand?”

 

“Oh, one or two,” Tony admits. “I’m always tinkering, and you never know when there’s going to be a Code Green, which usually results in a broken phone, among other things. If I can get Bruce up and running again right away, it makes things a little easier on him.”

 

“Something I appreciate,” Bruce comments as he enters the lab. “How are you feeling, Dean?”

 

“Fine,” Dean replies. “A little tired still, but fine. What’s up with those kids?”

 

Tony turns to face him. “First off, our results are very preliminary, and we don’t know the whole story.”

 

Dean closes his eyes. “Right.”

 

“They aren’t Inhuman,” Bruce says. “The markers in your blood are different than theirs, and best we can figure, Hydra was using something about the scepter to enhance them.”

 

Dean feels sick. “They were prisoners?”

 

“We don’t have any proof of that,” Tony is quick to say. “They could have been willing participants. What we know is that their names are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, they’re orphans, and according to the data that Hydra had, Pietro is fast, and Wanda is weird.”

 

“So, a couple of kids either fall in with Hydra or are captured, they get experimented on, and then I accidentally maim them,” Dean mutters.

 

“Dean, Natasha was very clear that you were attacked,” Bruce says gently. “What happened to make you lose control? Were you tired, or was it something else?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s crazy.”

 

“Tell us anyway,” Bruce orders.

 

“I saw Sam,” Dean admits uncomfortably. “He called me a monster, but I knew it wasn’t real. And then someone attacked him, and I just—reacted.”

 

“Understandable,” Tony replies. “And according to Hydra, Wanda Maximoff can make people see what she wants them to see. She attacked you, and you responded. Even if they were innocent bystanders who got caught up with Hydra—which we don’t know—you were acting to protect yourself and Natasha.”

 

“I always hated the concept of collateral damage,” Dean mutters.

 

“You okay?” Bruce asks.

 

Dean shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“And your phone is done,” Tony says, handing it over.

 

Dean glances at the notifications and immediately realizes how long it’s been since he checked it because he has half a dozen texts from Sam. “Ah, hell.”

 

_Gonna be in your neck of the woods in a couple of days. Do you mind if I stop in?_

_Dean, you okay?_

_You’re freaking me out. Pls respond._

_I’m stopping by._

_I’m at your place, where are you? There’s a layer of dust._

_Text me when you get this._

 

“I gotta call my brother,” Dean mutters just as Tony says, “Call coming in from Barton.”

 

Clint’s face fills the screen, and he grins. “Hey, good to see you up and about, Dean. I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

 

Sam shoulders him out of the way. “Dean! Where have you been?”

 

“I had a mission, and it was a long haul, Sammy,” Dean replies. “They checked me out, and I’m fine.”

 

“You weren’t responding to my texts!” Sam protests.

 

Dean winces. “Yeah, well, I lost my phone. Tony just cloned a new one for me. I literally just saw your messages.” He pauses. “Wait, are you at my place?”

 

“He was,” Clint inserts from off-camera. “I went to check on your place and found him camped out there.”

 

“I had to know if you got kidnapped or something!” Sam protests.

 

“You don’t have better security on your place?” Tony asks, sounding amused.

 

Dean shrugs. “Hey, it’s my brother. He’s great at breaking and entering.”

 

“I don’t know whether that was an insult or a compliment,” Sam says.

 

“Definitely a compliment,” Dean replies. “Look, stay there, okay? I was heading home anyway.”

 

“And stop by tonight, Winchester!” Tony calls. “We’re having revels, and you’re invited.”

 

Sam smiles. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

 

“I think we talked about this already,” Tony replies. “Mr. Stark is my father.”

 

Sam laughs, relief written all over his face. “Yeah, got it. Thanks for looking after my brother.”

 

“Any time,” Bruce replies.

 

Dean takes a deep breath. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you guys tonight. And maybe don’t mention the special powers thing to Sam? I’ll tell him eventually, but…”

 

“My lips are sealed,” Tony replies.

 

“We won’t out you,” Bruce promises. “I’ll have a word with the others, too.”

 

“Thanks.” Dean shoots off a quick text to Natasha to let her know what’s going on, and calls a cab to take him to his place in Bed-Stuy. He gets a text from her before he reaches the apartment that says, _See you tonight._

 

Dean hopes Clint doesn’t spill the beans before he gets there. He probably should tell Sam today, before the party. Even if Sam doesn’t think he’s a monster, he’s going to be pissed that Dean hasn’t told him.

 

Sam just seems relieved when Dean enters his apartment, though. Clint’s sprawled on the couch, clearly in the middle of the story about the mission that caused Fury to issue an agency-wide ban on them working together again.

 

“At least until the Avengers,” Clint finishes. “But Dean was the only SHIELD agent smart enough to figure out how to work with the Hulk.”

 

“How was that?” Sam asks, shooting a look at Dean.

 

“He treated Bruce like a real person,” Clint says, getting to his feet. “See you tonight, Dean?”

 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dean replies, and they exchange a handshake and quick bro-hug.

 

Sam is standing there, looking like he doesn’t know whether to hug Dean or not, and Dean closes the distance between them, pulling Sam into a tight hug. “Sorry I worried you.”

 

Sam clings to him for a second before pulling back. “No, man, it’s cool. Clint said you were undercover, and that you and Natasha were on a secret mission together. You said you lost your phone.”

 

“I have no idea where, and Tony couldn’t trace it, so it’s probably somewhere in Eastern Europe,” Dean says.

 

“It happens to the best of us,” Sam replies. “Even a secret agent man.”

 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, that’s true enough. So, you want to grab something to eat? I’m starving.”

 

“I could eat,” Sam replies.

 

Dean doesn’t want to talk about the mission in Sokovia, since it’s all tied up in his new abilities, and he’s relieved when Sam doesn’t ask any questions about it. Instead, he asks about Sam’s recent hunts and Bobby.

 

“Do you think you might be able to get to Sioux Falls?” Sam asks over his club sandwich.

 

Dean shrugs. “Maybe soon. I want to see Bobby, but things have been pretty busy lately.”

 

“So I hear,” Sam says. “Are you going to this party tonight?”

 

“I kind of have to,” Dean replies. “Big successful mission, you party after. It should be a good time.”

 

Sam hesitates. “I don’t have to go. I can leave if you want.”

 

“No, you should come,” Dean says before he can think better of the offer. “I’d like you to be there.”

 

“Do I need to dress up?” Sam asks.

 

“If you’ve got a suit, I’d go with that,” Dean replies. “You can ditch the tie, though.”

 

And that’s how they wind up back at the Tower just before 8 pm when the party starts. The afternoon is pleasant enough. Dean talks a little bit about tracking Hydra and what they’ve done to shut that down. Sam seems interested enough, probably because he’d been affected as well.

 

Sam has a strange expression on his face as the elevator doors open, and Dean can’t quite read him. It’s not awe, and there’s a certain amount of discomfort, but that might just be because of the company, the glittering crowd. All of the Avengers are present, wearing their finest, plus the others Tony has invited.

 

Dean has never quite figured out how Tony determines who to invite to these shindigs, but it’s always a varied crowd. There are World War II veterans, probably invited for Steve, although Dean’s not sure how much Steve really appreciates it—although the old guys are definitely having a good time.

 

He’s pretty sure the mayor of New York is there, as is one of the senators for the state. After they get a couple of beers, they wander around the room before winding up with Clint, who tends to go off on his own during events like this.

 

Clint is good people, though, and in another life, Dean thinks he would have made a great hunter.

 

Sam seems to relax a bit around Clint, and they drink beer and chat idly while others wander up and say hi and then depart. Dean sees Natasha briefly, but she’s working the room, probably gathering intelligence, and he figures they’ll catch up later.

 

“I need to make a pit stop,” Sam says.

 

“You need directions?” Dean asks.

 

“Nah, I got this, man,” Sam replies.

 

“I could stand another beer,” Clint says, getting up.

 

Dean rises with him. “Me, too.”

 

With Sam safely in the bathroom, under the buzz of the party, Dean felt comfortable asking, “Any news on the Maximoffs?”

 

“Yeah, the boy is still in a coma in critical condition,” Clint replies. “The girl might wake up in the next day or two.”

 

“Any word on what Hydra had on them and whether they were willing participants?” Dean asks.

 

Clint frowns. “You’re not feeling guilty, are you?”

 

“They’re enhanced people, Clint,” Dean says, keeping his voice low. “How am I supposed to feel?”

 

“Man, Natasha was clear on that, even if you weren’t: they attacked _you_ ,” Clint replies. “You were defending yourself and Natasha. If it had been me, I’d have shot them both in the face. Just because you can blow people up with your brain doesn’t change the situation.”

 

“What?” Sam asks.

 

Dean hadn’t seen him approach, and hadn’t heard him with the noise from the party. It’s—well, it’s basically the worst possible way Dean could think of telling him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clint mouths, but Dean doesn’t blame him. He’s the one who had brought up business when he could have waited until the coast was truly clear.

 

“It’s a long story.” Dean tries. “A boring one.”

 

“Was he being serious, or was that just a saying that you superheroes have?” Sam demands.

 

Dean wants to lie. He wants to tell Sam that it’s nothing, that it didn’t mean anything, but he can’t. He’d like to have a relationship with his brother that isn’t built on lies.

 

“I got exposed to a substance that gave me some special abilities,” Dean admits. “So, yeah, I can blow things up with my brain.”

 

He’s not quite sure how he expects Sam to react, but it’s not what he gets. Sam’s expression contains the same complicated mix of emotions as when they’d arrived at the party, and Dean doesn’t know what that means.

 

“Look, I’m, uh, I’m gonna go,” Sam says. “I should probably hit the road.”

 

He’s making his way through the crowd before Dean can stop him, and Dean is momentarily frozen. There’s a part of him that wants to let Sam leave, figure things out later. Sam can feel however he wants to feel, and they’ll sort things out some other time.

 

But then Clint says, “Go, I’ll make your excuses,” and there’s another part of Dean that just wants to have it out, rip the bandage off.

 

That’s the part that has him weaving through the crowd, muttering excuses and hitting the street a minute or so behind Sam. With someone who knew Manhattan well, Dean wouldn’t have been able to follow, but Sam is still getting his bearings.

 

Dean grabs his arm and says, “Let’s take this back to my place. I don’t want to have this conversation on the street.”

 

“I don’t want to have this conversation at all,” Sam mutters.

 

Dean agrees, but he’s grimly determined at this point. He left a great party early and is looking at a night without his—well, maybe not his girlfriend but at least without Natasha. He’s still somewhat exhausted, even if he’s feeling a lot better, and he just knows this fight is going to leave him with a bad taste in his mouth.

 

 _Everything is coming full circle_ , Dean thinks. And full circle brings him back to being at odds with Sam.

 

Dean waves down a cab, and they make the drive in a tense silence that doesn’t end, even when Dean has paid the driver and they’ve entered Dean’s apartment. Dean waits for Sam to break the silence, to accuse him of being a monster, to say _something_.

 

He wonders what his dad’s reaction would have been, and thinks surely nothing good.

 

“Look, whatever you’re going to say, just say it,” Dean finally bursts out. “It’s probably nothing I haven’t thought myself.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks.

 

Dean glares at him. “You stalked out of the party, Sam. So if you think I’m a monster now, or—”

 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Sam replies heatedly. “God, of course I don’t, Dean! I don’t think anybody with special powers is a monster.”

 

Dean nods. “Okay, so what’s the deal? You’re clearly pissed off.”

 

“I think you’re so fucking lucky and you don’t even know it!” Sam snaps.

 

Dean blinks. “Lucky?”

 

“Yeah, lucky,” Sam replies heatedly. “You’re so freaked out about having these special abilities, and you have no idea how good you’ve got it.”

 

Dean takes a step back, feeling the unfairness of that statement. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You’re a fucking superhero now,” Sam spits out. “You have special powers, you’re one of the Avengers. You get invited to party with Tony Stark, and your girlfriend is Natasha Romanoff.”

 

Dean feels as though he’s been sucker punched. “Are you—are you kidding me?”

 

“You get everything, Dean!” Sam snaps.

 

“Right,” Dean says bitterly. “Everything except my family.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Sam asks. “You left.”

 

“I _got_ left,” Dean snaps, his temper getting the best of him. “Dad left me, remember?”

 

Something dark and angry passes across Sam’s face. “It was your own fault for stealing.”

 

“Because you were hungry!” Dean shouts. “Because you wouldn’t fucking _stop whining_ about being hungry!”

 

It’s nothing Dean hasn’t thought before, nothing he hasn’t wondered about. If he’d been better about not getting caught, if he’d just managed to placate Sam a little longer, if he’d rationed out their food and money a little better…

 

There are a hundred ways that situation would have turned out different, and Dean wouldn’t be where he is today. He’d have been a hunter like his old man, and Sam wouldn’t be looking at him in outraged betrayal, unable to see the hard work and sacrifices that have brought Dean to this moment.

 

But Dean doesn’t have the control that Bruce does, doesn’t have the control he’ll have six months from now maybe, and there’s a long-burning resentment demanding to be voiced.

 

“And then you left and didn’t come back!” Sam yelled. “You left me with dad!”

 

“And if you’d even _tried_ to understand,” Dean began. “Bobby knew. You could have asked him instead of just assuming I’d leave you. Does that sound like me, Sam? If you’d showed me even a little understanding, I would have got out. I’d have done a tour and come back home, and I’d probably be a hunter right now.”

 

Sam scowled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“I wanted to come back home, Sam,” Dean replies. “I would have if I thought I had any family who would claim me, but I didn’t, so I made my own family.”

 

Sam snorts. “Yeah, whatever.”

 

“No,” Dean snaps, his anger rising, and he can feel the leashed power under his skin, and he doesn’t think it’s going to stay leashed much longer.

 

Sam has never wanted to know about this part of his life, but he’s about to find out.

 

“No, you don’t get to brush them off,” Dean snaps. “They were my brothers. They were there for me when you weren’t, and I watched every single one of them bleed out. Their names were Scooter, and Miller, and Cam. I would have died, and you probably never would have known because it was a classified mission. I _wanted_ to die. SHIELD saved me.”

 

“You could have come back any time,” Sam insists heatedly. “You could have tried!”

 

“When, Sam?” Dean demands. “Was that before or after you said to stay away?”

 

“You were going to leave again!”

 

“I had a fucking contract!” Dean shouts. “Will you get that through your thick skull? And just so you know, SHIELD took me in. They kept me alive, and the Avengers gave me a family again. I probably would have eaten a bullet a long time ago if it wasn’t for them.”

 

Sam’s expression is a little cruel. “So, what? It’s not like we would have known the difference.”

 

Dean hears something in the kitchen shatter, and a vase bursts into shards. In another second or two, the window is probably going to go, and if he doesn’t get control, it’s going to be the building. He sees Sam flinch at the explosions, and it’s the final straw.

 

“I think you’d better leave now,” Dean says, turning away so he doesn’t have to look at Sam, breathing deeply and remembering what Bruce had said about not losing control.

 

There’s another long silence, and Sam clears his throat, “Dean—”

 

“Leave. Now.”

 

Maybe later Dean will be able to hear whatever half-assed apologies Sam will offer—if he offers one at all.

 

There’s some rustling after that and his front door closes and opens, and Dean glances over his shoulder to make sure Sam is gone.

 

He collapses on the couch, loosening his tie and breathing deeply. His phone chimes with the tone reserved for the Avengers, and Dean glances at the screen.

 

_Building still standing?_

 

It’s from Clint, and Dean texts back a quick, _All clear._

 

_Sorry about outing you._

 

_Don’t worry about it. It would have happened sooner or later._

 

Then, from Cap, _You okay?_

 

Dean doesn’t want to respond, he wants to sit and lick his wounds, and Tony chimes in with, _We’re having a contest to see who can lift Thor’s hammer. Our data is incomplete without you._

 

Dean chokes on a shaky laugh. After the thing with Sam, he needs the reminder that he still has family. _Gonna pass on that_ , Dean replies. _I’m okay._

 

He puts the phone down and gets out of his suit, hanging it up and putting it away neatly, his years in the military not allowing him to do anything else. His apartment is a little chilly, so he pulls on a pair of SHIELD-issued sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he wishes he did feel like rejoining his team.

 

But he’s tired and sick and still a little shaky from the adrenalin rush and trying to pull back his powers so he pours a couple of fingers of Jack, figuring he’ll sleep it off.

 

When the knock on his door comes, Dean’s on his second drink and still too wired to think about sleep. He really doesn’t want to deal with anybody, but he figures Clint might be home by now and is stopping by to check on him.

 

He’s a little surprised to see Natasha, but he lets her in. “Everything okay?” he asks.

 

“That’s my line,” she replies. “Did your brother make an ass out of himself?”

 

Dean is pretty sure there’s a silent “again” tacked on the end of that question. “He accused me of leading a charmed life,” he replies. “And maybe that’s true to a certain extent, because I probably should have been dead ten times over.”

 

Natasha shakes her head. “You are an accomplished SHIELD agent. You are an Avenger. You have worked hard and sacrificed to get where you are. Never doubt that.”

 

And then, before Dean can come up with much of a reply, she kisses him, pushing him onto the couch, straddling his waist, and Dean loses himself in her touch. She pulls his shirt off over his head, and he unzips her dress and unclasps her bra, and then it’s skin on skin, and Dean can forget everything but this.

 

She rides him like that on the couch, taking full control, and Dean allows it, because he trusts that he’ll be safe in her hands.

 

Dean has always been safe in her hands.

 

She rides him to her own completion and finishes him off with her hand, and then she pulls him into his bedroom and spoons up behind him.

 

“Give me a minute,” Dean murmurs. “I’ll be ready for round two.”

 

“There’s no hurry,” Natasha replies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Dean swallows past a lump in his throat. “So, uh, who won the contest with the hammer?”

 

“Steve managed to budge it ever so slightly,” Natasha replies. “I declined to participate.”

 

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Dean says.

 

“Perhaps you can try some other time,” Natasha says. Dean’s phone chimes with Sam’s ringtone from the living room. “Is that your brother?”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Dean says. “He can wait. I’m good right where I’m at.”


End file.
